


This Insidious Intent

by roselatte



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Childhood Friends, M/M, Mutual Pining, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselatte/pseuds/roselatte
Summary: The elusive prince of the Katsuki family harbors a deep secret that puts him on several hit lists. Enter knight-in-training Victor Nikiforov, who kind of just stumbles into the position of Prince Yuuri's bodyguard.A royalty AU where friendship happens easily and love only keeps growing, but "communication" remains a wild concept that takes them forever to understand.





	1. do i dare disturb your universe?

 

By the age of eleven, Yuuri Katsuki, crown prince of Hasetsu, had survived seven assassination attempts.

 

Every exchange and diplomatic conference ended well and for the Hasetsan royal family. Even the affairs within their own court and nobility got resolved without much drama. It was odd, but the Katsukis were loved and they kept their kingdom running peacefully, so it would have been dissmissable—had it not been for Yuuri, who was seen entering several of these meetings. Prince or not, he was only a child, and it made no sense for him to be there. After the pattern was noted, people started getting suspicious. Dangerous people.

 

Enemies of the powerful kingdom came hunting after him, armed with lethal weapons and poison. He was safe within the heavily guarded walls of the palace, and to an extent, the Capitol City that bustled with kind subjects right outside. Beyond that Hasetsu, while prosperous and united, was too diverse and unpredictable.

 

For Yuuri, it was frustrating.

 

He could watch his older sister be free and travel to other kingdoms for glamorous parties, and be  _her age_ while Yuuri was smothered in the protection of the palace. He wanted to be angry with his parents, but he knew,  _he knew_ they felt guilt over the way his childhood slipped through their fingers for the sake of peace and safety, knew how much they loved him, knew their fear for his life.

 

So he went along with what they said. He consented with their decision to get him a personal bodyguard. However, in the last year alone, he went through five lieutenants, much to his parents' consternation. It wasn’t that they had been unreliable or inefficient, in fact, he was still alive-so they clearly did their jobs well. 

 

The problem was that Yuuri completely underestimated how much time he'd need to spend with them. It was so weird to walk around the palace,  _his home,_ and be followed around by these supposedly strong, accomplished fighters who looked at him with expectation in their eyes—as if he, at eleven, would just go and do something groundbreaking right in front of them.

 

Yuuri didn't have any serious prince duties they'd need to monitor and accompany him to, so when someone wasn't trying to kidnap or kill him, he imagined being his bodyguard was boring. After the job's allure wore off, it didn't take long for them to quit; but then a new bodyguard would always come along.

 

Yuuri was tired of maintaining straight shoulders and a perfect posture. He was tired of speaking formally and giving close-lipped, practiced smiles. He was tired of constantly wrapping himself in that impossible image-that regal prince who these people thought they were protecting. Yuuri was tired of them coddling him, and praising him, and letting him win at everything.

 

He was tired of being trapped on the ground.

 

Then Victor Nikiforov walked through his door and turned gravity off.

 

* * *

 

Victor considered two events in his life to be absolutely pivotal: the day Yakov Feltsman took him in and the day he met Yuuri Katsuki. And honestly, the first event was only important for being a gateway to the second.

 

Victor could not recall much of that day, only that he was cold and regretting some choices before Yakov whirled him off the streets and to the kingdom of Hasetsu. He never got an answer as to why Yakov chose to bring him to the palace, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He threw himself into Hasetsu's intensive knightship program, and at first, it was just because they looked cool with their fancy swords and glowy arrows, but then he found purpose in it, found a place to be. He would accept Yakov’s grudging praise at the end of each grueling day like he did the hearty, delicious meals the palace kitchens offered him.

 

When Yakov gave him his first training uniform a year later, Victor nearly cried. At least, his eyes stung a bit. Yakov couldn’t quite manage to hide the pride in his voice when he told Victor, “It usually takes longer for other students to start official knightship studies.”

 

It was overwhelming. “So this is going to be a thing,” Victor had said, looking up at Yakov. “I'm really committing to this.”

 

The captain stared at him silently for a few moments. “When I saw you-When I saw you out there…” He trailed off with a sigh. “You can always leave, you know-I can help set you up at a regular school. You have the allowance from your training here to get you going.”

 

It was a sudden, shocking thing for Yakov to say and the thought of leaving made Victor’s insides twist. It wasn’t just the comfort and small luxuries that held him here. The idea of leaving the trainees be practiced with, of leaving Yakov's guidance, of leaving behind something he was so _good_ at...no. “I don’t want to leave.”

 

Yakov gave him an approving nod and his face set into something more business-like. “Have you heard of Prince Yuuri Katsuki?”

 

Victor threw the captain an incredulous look. “You mean Hasetsu's future ruler Prince Katsuki? No, doesn’t ring a bell.”

 

He received a gentle whack on the head for that response. “Don’t get smart with me. He needs a bodyguard.”

 

Victor rolled his eyes. "Okay? Doesn't he get a new bodyguard every week?"

 

Yakov scowled. "You shouldn't be listening to gossip. He just wasn't compatible with them. The royal family is searching for someone who'd hopefully be permanent."

 

“Isn’t the royal family surrounded by guards?”

 

Yakov’s voice lowered, though there was nobody around them. “The prince is ten now. In the last year, four different assassins have tried to kill him.”

 

This surprised Victor into putting forth his full attention. “What? Is he—he's okay, right?”

 

Yakov shrugged. “I have only seen him a few times at socials and banquets. As you can imagine, he is heavily guarded.” He hesitated before continuing, “When he gets older, after his education I presume, he will have to go on diplomatic meetings alone and interact more with the subjects. Things will only get more dangerous for him and he will need the best protection.”

 

Victor searched Yakov’s eyes carefully. “And you think that's me?”

 

Yakov shrugged. “Strategically speaking, sometimes one amazing warrior is better than ten average ones. Your performance is the best that I have seen among countless and,” he narrowed his eyes at Victor’s gleeful expression and hissed, “do not make me repeat that.”

 

“Oh, I wish I recorded you,” Victor bemoaned, letting himself fall gracefully onto the ground.

 

Yakov rolled his eyes. “Stop your dramatics, I want us to get some practice in with the flammards today.”

 

“What? My hands are still feeling the abuse from last time!”

 

Victor had forgotten that conversation quickly (within two hours in fact, when a chef secretively pressed a sweet rice candy into his hand). He knew very little about the mysterious prince and only through word of mouth had he heard that several high-ranked officers were clamoring to be chosen as the prince’s bodyguard. Victor didn't care much for royalty, but even he knew the "privilege" of directly serving the prince would go to some lieutenant with established skills. Eventually, the conversation had completely slipped his mind as he got busier and busier with his training.

 

 

Now, two years later, he gasped for air as Yakov aggressively wrestled a tie around his neck. “Why do I need to look fashionable for this?” Victor grimaced at a particularly cruel tug.

 

“If you two get along and the royal family chooses you, then you’ll have to be able to look good next to him,” Yakov said before taking a few steps back to observe him. “That’ll do, I guess. Follow me.”

 

Victor kept up with Yakov easily but did not relent on his steady stream of complaints. “I just wish you told me about this? As in I would have preferred if I had more than two hours’ worth of notice. I can’t even remember the last time we talked about the prince and you just drop this bomb on me over breakfast?”

 

Yakov gave him a dismissive glance from the corner of his eye. “I brought up the possibility of you being his bodyguard two years ago, I believe. How could you forget something like that?”

 

“I forgot it because I didn’t think it would actually happen!” Victor exclaimed. "I'm  _still_  training!"

 

“The queen brought it up after a meeting and you were the first person I thought to recommend.”

 

Victor was disarmed enough by the easy way Yakov said this to stay quiet for the rest of the walk. The main palace was separated from the kitchens and soldier dorms by a long hallway. The guards standing at the door gave them stoic nods.

 

“Be respectful. He's a prince, and just a child,” Yakov said sternly.

 

Victor frowned, dismayed. “In case you forgot, I'm still a child too.” Victor barely managed to catch the captain’s stricken face before he pushed Victor in through the doors. All thoughts flew from Victor’s mind as he took in the grand hallway. The main palace was  _beautiful._ Sunlight streamed in through stained glass windows and formed playful patches of color on a rich, plush rug that seemed to extend past the end of the hallway. The stone walls alternated between sections of pale blue and a flinty, black obsidian. Elaborate chandeliers hung steady from the high, arching ceiling.

 

“Ahem,” a voice interrupted Victor’s admiration. A man was leaning against the wall behind him. Victor mentally berated himself for not noticing him first. How was he going to try protecting a prince if he wasn’t even staying aware of his surroundings?

 

The man continued on in Victor’s silence. “I’m Celestino. I’ll take you to Prince Yuuri’s room.” _Oh right_ , Victor didn’t even know where the prince’s room was. Victor eyed Celestino discreetly as they walked together. He hadn’t given Victor a title, or even a last name, but he was very obviously rich, probably important. His boots clicked too loudly, even on the soft rug, and his hair, while pulled back in a ponytail, appeared to be carefully styled.

 

“You look a little young to be in this position,” Celestino said slowly.

 

“I’m thirteen,” Victor responded with a forced lightness.

 

Celestino stumbled, but otherwise showed no sign of surprise. “You need to be at least twenty-one to be a part of the Royal Army or Palace Guard.”

 

“I’m still training,” said Victor truthfully and then couldn't fully hide petulance as he added, “if you have a problem you should take it up with Captain Yakov, he put me up to this.”

 

“I have no problem,” Celestino said softly, making a turn, “Prince Yuuri is smart enough to make his own decisions.”

 

Victor wondered, a little vindictively, how an eleven-year-old born into royalty could possibly make any decisions regarding his own safety, especially after several assassinations attempts. They stopped in front of a double panel black door. Judging by the number of guards that stretched down the corridor, this must be Prince Yuuri’s room. Celestino knocked on the door before stepping back and motioning for Victor to go inside.

 

_Just like that? No warning?_

 

Victor swallowed, this throat feeling very dry. This was just a kid. A kid who would one day rule one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world. But still a kid. Like him. Victor pushed the door open—just a crack, barely wide enough for him to fit through, and let it close shut behind him.

 

A boy sat on the ground across from him, slouched casually against the wooden backboard of a large bed.  He was dressed head-to-toe in black with the exception of a blue cape draped around his shoulders, and if it weren't for the silver crown sitting lopsided on his head, Victor wasn't sure he would have known this was the prince.

 

He looked too delicate. Too light.  He couldn’t possibly be of this world, he couldn’t possibly have people trying to kill him. He was staring out the window, and as the sunlight hit his face, Victor wondered—irrationally—if the rays could shatter him.

 

Then he turned to Victor, and that image of fragility was gone. Victor was hit with the certainty that this was someone meant to be a king. His eyes were brown, but the way the sun touched him made them look an almost eerie, wine red. They were bottomless and piercing and  _how long had Victor been staring at him?_

He hastily knelt into a low bow. “Your Grace,” Victor said, hoping his voice sounded respectful rather than stupidly dazed. “I was sent.” After a pause, he eloquently added, “to you.”

 

“For the bodyguard position.” The prince’s voice was soft.

 

“Yes,” Victor affirmed.

 

“You don’t even look old enough to be in the Royal Forces,” the prince stated bluntly.

 

How was Victor supposed to respond to that? He mentally cursed Yakov for teaching him ways to incapacitate an enemy but not how to interact with royalty. “I’m still in training,” he finally admitted again, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.

 

The prince was silent for a long moment. “You can sit down.”

 

Victor stood up smoothly and saw the prince motion to the chair next to the window. Victor frowned. Was this a test? Surely, he wasn’t supposed to sit in a chair while the royal was on the ground. He read books; he could at least infer some things.  “I have to insist that you sit in the chair, Your Grace.”

 

He just contradicted the prince. Did people get beheaded in this kingdom? Victor wondered if he should resign himself to death at the hands of an eleven-year-old because he didn't know how to act around royalty.

 

The prince’s eyes glittered with a challenge. “Then carry me to it. I don’t feel like moving.”

 

There was an edge to his voice, and Victor had the distinct feeling that he was being messed with. He wasn’t sure which would be more inappropriate-laughing or rolling his eyes. He settled for a polite, agreeable smile because he wasn't here to back down. “It would be my honor.”

 

He only took a step towards him before the young royal subtly pressed back against the wood. “I changed my mind,” the prince said hastily, his eyes widening. “Just-just sit in the chair.”

 

When Victor still stood there glancing uncertainly between the prince and the chair, the prince sighed and added, “It’s an order.” Victor wordlessly went to the chair and sat down. He felt slightly unnerved by the way the future king observed him. “So? Don’t you have any plans on how you’re going to protect me?”

 

Was Victor supposed to have made  _plans?_ “Well,” he started slowly, trying to pull together something in his mind before quickly giving up, “I was just thinking I’d kill anyone that tried to hurt you.”

 

The prince’s eyebrows shot up, his expression mildly incredulous. “Just like that? Have you killed anyone before?”

 

“No, but I have learned how to.” Yakov had set him up for utter embarrassment; Victor had no doubt that the prince had talked to captains and commanders who had killed countless criminals.

 

“Knowing how to is very different from being able to," the prince said, and for a second, Victor thought his voice sounded too old.

 

“Your Majesty, if it is your life in danger, then I will do my best to eliminate the cause.” Victor found to his surprise that he meant every word, and a part of him wondered if the rest of the royal family also generated such immediate unconditional support.

 

The prince was looking away, his cheeks tinged pink. “I have some board games,” he said abruptly, and then met Victor’s gaze again, “do you know how to play chess?

 

Victor blinked at the sudden topic change. “I-yes? We play it in the barracks.” The prince got up and then proceeded to bring out and place the most beautiful chess set Victor had ever seen on the table next to him. The board was made of some sort of frosted glass and the pieces looked like they were carved out of solid silver and gold. “Your Highness…am I allowed to play with this?”

 

The prince ignored his question and shot him an odd look. That shine from before was back in his eyes. “Are you trying to fit in every formal address you can think to call me?”

 

Victor replied without thinking, “I am trying to find the one I like best for you.” He winced almost immediately. Was he even allowed to tease the prince like that? He hadn’t been beheaded yet, so it must be acceptable to make a joke or two.

 

Thankfully, the prince had a playful and unbothered smile on his face as he set up the pieces. As they started playing, he was pleasantly surprised at how good the prince was at the game and found himself thoroughly challenged while they moved the pieces around. Eventually, he set down a knight piece with a triumphant grin. “Checkmate.”

 

The prince looked startled for a second before his expression settled into a calculating one. “That was a fair game,” he murmured, and for the first time, he looked uncertain. “Okay, okay—fine.”

 

“Your Majesty?” Victor asked, cautiously.

 

“I would like you to be my bodyguard,” the prince clarified, “My only condition is that you always wear gloves around me. Is that fine?”

 

Victor felt a little lightheaded, barely processing what the prince was saying. “Wait…just like that? I’m your bodyguard?”

 

The prince frowned. “I doubt it. I’ll have to convince my father-the king-since I think your captain conveniently forgot to mention that you aren’t actually in any part of our military.”

 

Victor wondered how many times he could curse Yakov in one day. The prince continued on in an assured voice, “I’ll make it happen.” He then stood up and offered Victor his gloved hand to shake. “Please take care of me from today onwards.”

 

This was happening a little too fast.

 

Victor stared down at the hand for a moment before sliding off his chair and into another kneeled bow. He took the prince’s gloved hand and instead of shaking it, he pressed a kiss to his knuckles (because everyone did that to royalty the books). “Your Majesty, I will protect you with my life.” All the knights and soldiers would say that to royalty in the books. Except they were cool and had winged horses; the horses here were normal and hated Victor.

 

The prince seemed to freeze for a second before pulling his hand out of Victor’s grasp. “ _God,_ don’t be so dramatic.” There was no bite in his voice though and when Victor looked up he saw that the prince was grinning and his eyes had lightened with laughter.

 

Despite the prince’s command to not be dramatic, in that one second when their eyes met, Victor felt that his life had somehow changed forever.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you :)
> 
>    
> [tumblr](http://www.yuris.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  


	2. and indeed there will be time

Victor kicked his disappointment into the innocent dummy, feeling no satisfaction in the way the malleable metal crumpled under the force of his foot. It let out an unrealistic, cracking whimper before falling apart onto the padded floor of the training hall.

 

Victor shouldn't have let himself get excited or hopeful. After not hearing back from whoever he should have been hearing back from regarding the whole bodyguard deal, he could only assume he hadn’t been accepted. Yakov had also been suspiciously absent for the entire week since Victor met with the prince, which was probably a good thing as he was still steaming with annoyance towards the captain. He wouldn't be moping around right now if Yakov hadn't sprung that appointment on him. Victor hated feeling sorry for himself.

 

Perhaps the surreal, magical experience he had with the prince was something everyone felt around the royal family. It certainly explained why so many people seemed to love them.

 

He wanted to get upset with the prince, after all, he had been the one to raise his hopes. Unfortunately, he just couldn’t, couldn’t even bring himself to consider feeling such a thing for the prince. He supposed even princes fell prey to the childhood event of wanting something and being denied it.

 

Victor watched dispassionately as the broken pieces of the dummy pulled itself back together and resume its fighting stance. He destroyed it again-one, two, three times, before realizing that, other than his heavy breathing, the training hall had gone rather quiet. He straightened up to look around. Many of his fellow trainees were there, but they had become silent with the exception of an occasional whisper.

 

Some of them made sad attempts at pretending to spar while their eyes flickered in his direction, others were downright gaping. Victor frowned, they couldn’t be staring at him-? He turned around slowly and his breath caught.

 

It was the prince, leaning against the wall, poised in spite of his laidback posture. He was dressed similarly to the last time Victor saw him: lopsided crown, dark, well-fitted clothes, and this time a silver cape wrapped around his shoulders.

 

Victor felt distinctly aware of his patchy training clothes and the sweat dripping down his neck.

 

The prince straightened up under Victor’s surprised gaze and offered him a reserved smile. “Can we talk?” His voice barely carried over the distance between them.

 

Victor wasted no time in running towards him, stopping short by a few feet so that he could bow. “Your Majesty,” he murmured, “what a pleasant surprise.”

 

“Right, yeah—same,” was all the prince said in acknowledgment.

 

At his stammered response, Victor chanced a glance up at his face and saw that the prince was gazing out at the hall. Victor straightened up and looked behind him to see that everyone else was bowing as well. Apparently, nobody was exempt from the aura of the royal’s presence, Victor noted wryly.

 

The prince was pressing his teeth down onto his lower lip when Victor turned back to him. “I apologize, Your Majesty,” Victor said with a playful smile, and the prince’s attention was back on him as he continued, “I’m kind of worshiped around here, so you’ll have to excuse them. Would you like to go outside before they start asking me for autographs?”

 

The prince huffed in laughter before nodding. The other trainees maintained their bowed position the entire walk down the hall and Victor only saw them start to stand and begin chattering excitedly as he closed the doors behind him. The prince turned to him with a chagrined expression. “I’m sorry if that’s going to cause you trouble. I’ve never been down to the training halls.”

 

Oh. That was probably why they had reacted so strongly. Or perhaps that was the normal reaction towards royalty? Victor once again wondered if he was the only one unaware of these things. “Don’t apologize, Your Grace, they’ll work harder now that they got to see you.”

 

“It sounded like they’ll be gossiping,” the prince said acerbically before he started walking in a different direction. “Follow me,” he commanded to Victor over his shoulder.

 

Naturally, Victor followed.

 

Victor watched him closely out of the corner of his eyes as they walked. The prince was doing the lip-biting thing again, a movement which Victor now felt safe associating with worry. His heart sank at the same time as anger coursed through his veins. He knew why the royal was here to talk to him, he would tell Victor that the bodyguard position would go to someone else, someone more qualified. But why would they send the prince to deliver news like that?

 

“I know what you’re here to say,” Victor said, because if he didn't want to hear it, he imagined the prince didn't want to say it.

 

“You do?” The prince glanced at him, surprise flickering through his eyes.

 

Victor nodded. “I do. You, or I suppose someone else in the royal family-I don’t know how it works-decided to choose someone with more experience to be your bodyguard, right? Maybe a lieutenant or even a general, at least someone who is officially in the Palace Guard or Royal Army. And I understand! Your Majesty, I’m honestly just grateful to be allowed in your presence.”

 

Victor was not sure where his explanation had crossed the line into rambling but when he finally glanced over, he saw that the prince had fixed him with a decidedly unimpressed look. “Are you done?”

 

Victor wracked his brain, wondering if he had said something that could have been misconstrued as disrespect. “Yes?”

 

“Well,” the prince’s lips twitched up as he spoke, “that was not at all what I was going to say.”

 

He didn't want to let himself hope. “I’m sorry, what?”

 

His expression was too pleased when he looked at Victor. “So, this is a long story. I think your captain is still working everything out with my parents-well, the king and queen-but you know.”

 

Victor did not know.

 

The prince proceeded to give Victor a rundown of exactly what Yakov had disappeared to work out with Hasetsu's rulers. Victor's education would change and somewhat intersect with the prince's, which meant that along with a much more rigorous field training plan, Victor would also be getting a deeper technical schooling on magic and civics. This way, both of their education would finish around the same time-they were projecting five years-and by then Victor could be sure if being the Crown Prince's bodyguard was what he wanted. It was helpful that they were practically the same age as with the way Victor’s captain sang praises on his skills (Victor had made a choked sound of disbelief at this), Victor and Yuuri could duel together once Yuuri got started with field training.

 

It wasn’t difficult to understand, though Victor had a suspicion that the prince had probably spared him the more boring details. “So, it’s real now? Being your bodyguard?”

 

“I mean, only in name, obviously,” the prince explained. “Being my bodyguard is a pretty big deal, apparently; I don't know what the ones I had before went through to get the job, but they were all super powerful and did a bunch of famous stuff, I think." The prince hesitated for a moment before continuing, "We're still kids, right? So it would be weird for you to have the actual, formal title. But for all intents and purposes, yes. Bodyguard.”

 

It was a long answer, and Victor had a very confusing mix of emotions going through him-excitement, about this new future, eagerness over the new things he'd learn and practicing with the prince, worry at how tired and busy he was going to be from now on.

 

“This is a little hard to process,” he eventually admitted, after his mind rolled and parsed through every word the prince had said.

 

The prince started gnawing his lower lip again, and Victor was now sure that this was a sign that he was nervous. “Is it too much? Everything is still being figured out and I know your training is going to get a lot harder. I'm sorry, I got too excited and wanted to tell you first.”

 

Victor was inclined to agree, the whole thing would probably have been easier to understand if Yakov had explained it to him, but he wasn't about to tell the prince that. “It’s fine, Your Grace,” Victor assuaged him with a small smile, “Yakov will probably go over all of this with me later. Pardon me for worrying you.”

 

“You’re pardoned.” His voice was playful but his eyes were wavering, hopeful. “It’s okay, then?”

 

Victor could not believe that the prince was standing before him, asking _him_ if something was okay. “Yes,” he found himself easily admitting, “Everything you say is okay, Your Grace.” Judging by the prince’s deadpan expression, that last bit was wholly unnecessary.

 

“Anyways,” the prince responded lightly, “you cab  into a room near mine in the main palace.”

 

While the statement made perfect sense, it was through pure self-control that Victor did not stutter. “Why? Or-when?”

 

“Why because what if someone jumps through the window and tries to scalp me?” The prince pointed out with a teasing smile and then paused. “And when-well, whenever you feel ready?”

 

Victor did not point out that the guards that had been outside the prince’s room would probably be a better match for anybody able to jump through his window. “Soon then,” he reassured instead, “wouldn’t want you getting scalped.”

 

The royal shot him a smile that carried a touch of relief. A comfortable silence fell over them as they walked. When they stepped off a stone path, Victor finally asked, “May I ask where we’re going?”

 

The prince’s eyes brightened immediately and Victor wanted to replay that reaction at least fifty times. “The gardens,” the prince answered, “have you been?”

 

Victor shook his head. He hadn’t even known there were gardens within the grounds, though considering the enormous amount area the palace seemed to cover, Victor wasn’t surprised.

 

The prince frowned. "Sorry-I'm not taking time away from your training, am I?"

 

He was, and Victor avoided taking time off training, but Victor found himself not minding it now. "Not at all, Your Majesty. My time is yours."

 

The prince rolled his eyes before returning to the topic at hand. “It’s a great place to hide from Celestino,” he said happily, a spring to his step now. Victor couldn’t help but feed off his energy, walking faster as well.

 

“Celestino?” Victor echoed. He barely recalled the man who had led him to the prince’s quarters a week ago.

 

“Yes.” The prince’s expression somewhat soured and Victor automatically started searching through his mind for anything else they could talk about. “One of my teachers. He’s just alright.”

 

Before Victor could say anything, daisies and poppies haphazardly started to grow out of the grass as they walked over it. The prince’s face brightened again. “Ignore them,” he said, not heeding his own advice as he crouched down for a moment to smell a patch that just sprouted up.

 

Of course. Of course, the prince would have flowers growing out of the ground he stepped on. “The palace garden has sentient flowers?” Victor asked, keeping his voice light but warily eyeing the poppy that was stretching in his direction. "Are they friendly?"

 

The prince shrugged and stood up to continue walking. Different types of field flowers sporadically jumped out at their feet. “I wouldn’t say they’re all friendly, the Venus Flytraps are snappy.”

 

Of course. The Venus Flytraps would be snappy.

 

He glanced at Victor over his shoulder, his face was lightly flushed with excitement. “I want to show you the cherry blossoms-they’re the nicest.”

 

At this point, Victor was unsure as to whether the prince was referring to the flowers’ aesthetics or their supposed personality. Eventually, they must have entered the real garden because they passed by several organized rose bushes of various colors (some of which Victor was sure were not natural). There were sunflowers that, rather than facing the sun, turned on their stems to (for lack of a better term) stare at them eerily as they passed by. Then there were the-

 

Oh. _Oh._ They were nice.

 

They were a faded, gentle pink-a familiar color, though Victor wasn’t sure how he knew it. At first, he thought they were simply falling-it happened so naturally-but as several of the blossoms fluttered down, they started to twirl and dance around the prince. He was clearly well-acquainted with this event as he easily reached a hand up for more of the petals to be drawn down. His eyes and smile had gone so, so soft.

 

Would this happen every time he was in the prince’s presence? Would Victor feel reality shatter and displace? It was only the second time they'd met, and Victor was not sure he would ever get used to such a simple display of muted grace. It was a pleasant type of hurt with which Victor watched the prince turn in circles with the playful blossoms, his brown eyes wide and joyful.

 

Victor decided with a despondent acceptance that yes, since he'd already decided in the back of his mind that he wanted to be the prince's bodyguard, he might go through this every time and he’d just have to get used to it.

 

Then the petals came for him.

 

It took all of Victor’s willpower to not pull his switchblade out of his pocket and slice the blossoms to shreds. Unlike with the prince, the blossoms chose to specifically whirl in circles around his hair.

 

“Nice crown.” Victor glanced over and there was pure, unguarded happiness on the prince’s face.

 

An unwilling laugh escaped Victor’s mouth. It felt foreign, and as more whispers of laughter left his lips, it felt so right. He reached up to his hair where several of the blossoms had settled, and a generous number of them pulled free to dance around his fingers. Victor could not remember the last time he had been so carefree. What had stopped him from feeling this warm, no-strings-attached sort of happiness?

 

Except there were strings attached. So many strings. His eyes flickered back down to the prince- _Prince Yuuri,_ who was watching him with easy amusement.

 

Victor very nearly said, _"This is the second time I've talked to you and I've already decided you're the best person ever and I want to be friends"_ but that couldn't possibly be the proper way to talk to a prince, so instead, maybe-

 

He reached Prince Yuuri in a few easy strides before he fell gracefully to his knees in another bow. Victor took his hand-gloved again, Victor observed-and pressed his mouth to his knuckles. “My prince,” he whispered against them, “it is my honor to serve you."

 

Prince Yuuri made a surprised, aggravated sound but did not pull away like last time. “Is this going to be a thing you do every time?”

 

Victor’s smile hovered above the soft fabric covering Prince Yuuri’s hand. “Yes.”

 

When Victor let go of his hand to get up, the prince smoothly wrapped too-long fingers around his wrist and Victor briefly considered that despite the confident way he had done it, his hand seemed to tremble against Victor’s skin. He stared down at the black fabric before looking up at Prince Yuuri’s face.

 

His expression was unreadable. “Every time?” He whispered this, and the tremble from his hand must have contagiously passed into his voice. _Every time_ , spoken in his whisper, sounded like Prince Yuuri asking for trust, and friendship, and more moments of laughing at fluttery petals, rather than a playful prod at Victor's behavior. At least, Victor hoped so-but he didn't care to think too hard about it either way.

 

The cherry blossoms continued to cheerfully waltz around them.

 

Prince Yuuri's mouth twitched towards a smile and Victor felt that easy, _easy_ laughter come up his throat again. “Yes.”

 

 


	3. but in short, i was just afraid

_Yuuri-12, Victor-13_

“You don’t need to do that,” Prince Yuuri called out warily.

 

Victor chanced a glance down from the tree to see Prince Yuuri staring up at him, the light from the glowing fruits casting a red glow over his face. “Order me not to,” he quipped before swinging nimbly onto a branch that was laden heavy with fruits.

 

Prince Yuuri didn’t say anything and when Victor glimpsed down again, the prince was sitting with his back against the tree trunk, his head lolled back to watch Victor. “You’re damaging royal property,” he said as Victor plucked one of the fruits off the branch.

 

Victor froze and shot a worried glance at the prince, but he was simply smiling. He let the fruit drop from his hand and Prince Yuuri casually reached out and caught it. _Good reflexes_ , Victor noted pridefully. He followed the fruit, landing neatly on his feet before settling down against the trunk next to Prince Yuuri. “You really didn’t need to do this,” the prince repeated as he tossed the glowing fruit up and down. His breath came out in visible puffs of smoke; it was cold now, especially during the night when the frost started crawling up on the grass.

 

Victor shrugged. “It’s not like I can afford an actual present for you. And you said you liked these.”

 

“We can get them in the kitchens,” Prince Yuuri reminded him, “in cobblers, pies, crepes…”

 

“Don’t they stop glowing after you cut them?” Victor asked, watching the prince throw the fruit into the air.

 

He answered after it landed again in his gloved palm. “Yes. They go bad soon after too.” He held the fruit up to his face with a melancholic smile. “Sad, right?”

 

Victor hummed in assent and looked out at the soft blue orbs of fluorescent light floating above them. They cast the palace grounds in an otherworldly underwater wash.

 

Victor flicked one of the orbs that came down too low. “I’ve never seen so much magic until I came to the palace.”

 

“It’s so normal to me. I can’t imagine the world without it.”

 

Victor glanced at the prince, who was now rolling the fruit between his hands. “Wasn’t the world once like that? No magic?”

 

“It’s just a story,” Prince Yuuri admitted, and then flashed Victor a grin. “But one of my favorite stories. I’ll get the book out someday and tell you.”

 

Victor smiled back, all the while wondering how many of these common stories he had missed in his absent childhood. _He was still a child_ , he reminded himself fruitlessly, he could still have those moments.

 

He watched the prince return to tossing the fruit up and down. It had been three months since Prince Yuuri had informed him of his future bodyguard position. He had moved into the room next to the prince’s as requested, a room too large for his three meager boxes of belongings. Prince Yuuri sat on his bed the entire time Victor organized his things, his legs rocking back and forth, his eyes impatient. Victor hadn’t even finished when the prince insisted that they play chess, and even if Victor hadn’t wanted to, he couldn’t refuse the prince’s pleading eyes.

 

It started with competitive chess games. Then it slowly turned into sneaking away from studies and training to the kitchens where Prince Yuuri introduced him to something heavenly called a pork cutlet bowl (Katsudon in his mother tongue, the prince had explained). It progressed to Prince Yuuri stopping by to watch Victor’s sword-fighting, his eyes wide with an amazement that only made Victor work harder.

 

And now it was like this. The intensity of Victor’s training had escalated beyond anything he could have comprehended, and these starry night reprieves with the prince felt like the only peace he had. They would talk about anything. Prince Yuuri would point out stars and interesting flowers and Victor would give weird names to constellations and make funny voices to match the moving flowers.

 

Victor wanted desperately to believe that this attachment was mutual, that the prince considered their growing friendship as real as he did. How could Victor know, though? How could he know that the prince didn’t just see Victor as his bodyguard (-in-training)? Victor didn’t know what the probability was that someone who wore solid diamonds and sapphires around their head could ever consider him a friend. To him, the odds seemed bleak.

 

“It’s midnight,” Victor murmured in response to the distant toll of a clock tower. “Happy Birthday, Your Majesty.” He shot the prince a teasing smile, a direct contradiction to his worried thoughts. “How does it feel? Another year?”

 

Prince Yuuri pouted. “It feels old.”

 

“You’re not acting very old right now,” Victor pointed out with raised eyebrows. Indeed, Prince Yuuri was rearranging his hands around the fruit in different ways in an attempt to block the light it emanated from escaping. He was failing miserably.

 

He gave Victor a playful glare. “Would you like to try, then?” He asked petulantly.

 

Victor held his hand out for the fruit. The hesitation in the prince’s eyes was brief, just a flash, but Victor had already been trained to notice these things. This was another reason Victor thought this friendship might be one-sided. At random times, the prince would get meticulously careful about avoiding physical contact with Victor. Yes, Prince Yuuri graciously accepted the bowed kisses on his hands, but that was a custom, countless people probably did it.

 

Victor couldn’t find a pattern connecting when Prince Yuuri would suddenly choose to create a tangible, impersonal space between them. Now, rather than handing the fruit to him, the prince tossed it over.

 

Victor’s hands easily interlocked around the fruit, blocking out its light. Prince Yuuri scoffed, “It’s cheating. You have big, gorilla hands.”

 

“These gorilla hands can wield swords longer than your height.”

 

Prince Yuuri narrowed his eyes at him. “That was low. You have five inches on me.” Then, after a beat of silence, he asked, “how is training going, by the way?”

 

“It’s going well,” Victor lied easily while almost every exhausted inch of his body screeched insults at him.

 

Victor could feel the prince’s penetrating eyes boring into him and it made him want to let it all out. _No_ , he wanted to say, having eight years’ worth of training squeezed into five was hurting him physically and not knowing if Prince Yuuri only spent time with him for charity made everything even worse.

 

“We should probably go back inside the palace,” was what he said instead before Prince Yuuri could press him on what “well” meant. “Big day tomorrow, right?”

 

Prince Yuuri groaned but stood up anyway. “Don’t remind me.”

 

* * *

 

He spun in a circle before flashing Victor a boyish grin. “How do I look?”

 

Prince Yuuri’s outfit was the usual black, but this time paired with a royal blue cape overcoat and silver shoulder pads that matched the gray laces of his boots. For once, his crown wasn’t sitting crooked on his head. “Like a prince,” Victor replied, smiling back at him.

 

The prince’s grin widened. “You look great too.”

 

Victor couldn’t lie, he felt a little luxurious. He was sure it wouldn’t compare to what the aristocrats at Prince Yuuri’s birthday party would be wearing, but Lilia, Prince Yuuri’s designer, had given him the nicest clothes Victor had ever seen. The fabric was like nothing he had ever felt, and the bold royal family coat of arms that adorned the breast pocket would allow the partygoers to dismiss him as an important palace worker.

 

However, Lilia was now sneaking up behind the prince with a vulture-like expression. “Your Highness, let’s just do something about your hair, shall we? Before you take off?”

 

The prince ducked behind Victor with impressive speed. “Lilia,” he bit out, a touch of fear in his voice, “you are not getting near my hair.”

 

The woman fixed Victor with a severe glare as if the prince’s lack of cooperation was somehow his fault. “Then the two of you might as well get going, you’re late anyways.”

 

“Nothing wrong with being fashionably late,” Victor joked, and then raced Prince Yuuri out of the room at Lilia’s darkening eyes.

 

He cast Prince Yuuri a sidelong look as they made their way through various hallways. “You don’t look very excited,” Victor whispered to Prince Yuuri so they wouldn’t be overheard by the guards following behind them as they walked to the banquet hall.

 

The prince rolled his eyes. “There is nothing exciting about these things.”

 

Before Victor could ask for clarification, one of the guards pushed open the huge doors that led to the hall and some voice called out, “Introducing His Royal Highness, Prince Yuuri Katsuki of Hasetsu!”

 

It was a bit surreal to watch everyone below them stop what they were doing and collectively bend into bows and curtseys. Victor barely processed the prince’s shaky sigh as they walked towards the king, queen, and princess. The king and queen smiled indulgently at Prince Yuuri while Princess Mari reached a hand out and roughly ruffled his hair. “You’re late, twerp.” She flashed a sharp smile at Victor as she acknowledged him, “Victor, be sure to keep an eye on him.”

 

Giving neither a chance to respond and clearly considering this sufficient interaction, the princess gathered up her skirts and marched down the staircase towards the mass of people on the floor. The king and queen exchanged a glance between themselves before returning their focus onto Prince Yuuri. The queen fiddled with Prince Yuuri’s crown as she said, “It would be good if you came to these events on time for once, so we could get announced together.”

 

“I’m sorry, mother,” the prince apologized, keeping his eyes downcast.

 

The king clapped a hand on Prince Yuuri’s shoulder and gently added, “Go on down and have some fun.” He gave Victor a hard glare and in a very different voice commanded, “Take care of him, boy.”

 

With the exception of Prince Yuuri, Victor had had few conversations with the royal family. However, he had a hunch that the king was not fond of him, a hunch that had been practically confirmed when Prince Yuuri would hastily change the subject whenever Victor had tried to bring it up.

 

“Okay,” the prince whispered conspiratorially as the two of them made their way down the stairs, “the goal here is to make it to the buffet table while avoiding as many people as possible.”

 

This was easier said than done. The second their feet hit the floor, an endless stream of people approached Prince Yuuri, pinching his cheeks and crowing on about how cute he was and how much taller he’d gotten. Prince Yuuri bravely bore this abuse with an uncomfortable smile and pained eyes, wincing at every touch.

 

Several of the guests would shoot Victor appraising looks and ask questions like, “is this a new attendant, Your Highness?” to which Prince Yuuri would promptly clarify, “he’s my friend.” Victor could not put a name to the gymnastics his insides would perform every time the prince used that label.  

 

Eventually, they did make it to the buffet table where Victor was treated to the most decadent cake he ever had. “It’s good, right?” Prince Yuuri said after swallowing a mouthful.

 

Victor nodded enthusiastically. “How did you know the names of all those people?”

 

The prince hesitated and handed his empty plate off to a waiter before answering. “Diplomacy, I think? Anybody here who isn’t a Hasetsu noble is royalty from another nation. It would look bad if I didn’t know their names.”

 

Once Victor was done with his cake, Prince Yuuri took a step back. “Ready to go back?”

 

Victor frowned. “Already? You couldn’t have been here for more than an hour.”

 

“Yes, and we need to leave before people start getting drunk. Then it’s more cheek-pinching for me.”

 

Victor shot a horrified glance down at the prince as they walked back to the exit, trying their best to dodge the preying guests. “People get drunk at your birthday party?”

 

“It’s only my birthday party by name,” Prince Yuuri mumbled as he walked through the door Victor held open for him. Realizing the conversation could take an unpleasant turn, Victor smoothly transitioned to lighthearted jokes about the guests to bring the prince away from whatever dark territory his mind was about to enter.

 

As they walked back towards Prince Yuuri’s room, Victor suddenly recalled the number of times Prince Yuuri had referred to him as a friend. “You didn’t have to say it,” Victor said out loud and wished immediately that he hadn’t as Prince Yuuri’s smile dropped to a frown.

 

“Say what?” the prince asked curiously, and there was no backing out of this conversation now.

 

“I know we’re keeping the bodyguard thing under wraps right now,” Victor started slowly, “but you could have just agreed when they said I was your servant-it’s closer than-it’s the closest to a bodyguard.”

 

Prince Yuuri’s expression was unreadable as he gave no response to Victor’s remark. The tension between them grew thick as the prince walked into his room, leaving Victor standing at the doorway, unsure if he could enter. Unsure if he had made some horrible mistake by questioning the prince’s actions.

 

The prince sat down on the side of his bed before he finally looked at Victor. “You may come in.”

 

Victor walked in slowly, letting the door swing shut behind him. He leaned tentatively against the bedpost while watching the prince fiddle with the laces on his right boot. “Your Majesty,” Victor started, “I’m sorry if I offended you, that was never my intention.”

 

“You didn’t offend me.” Prince Yuuri gave an unsuccessful yank at the laces. “Stop worrying about offending me.”

 

Victor wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Let me take care of those,” he murmured, walking towards the prince and kneeling before him. Prince Yuuri’s hands left the boot and settled on either side on him on the bed as Victor got to work on loosening the laces.

 

“It’s because my gloves are too thick,” the prince explained. Victor frowned at the intricacy of the laces; even his bare hands were having a tough time with them. Lilia really was a piece of work.

 

There was a beat of tight silence as Victor tried to work through them before Prince Yuuri spoke again. “It’s just-.” He made a distressed sound at the back of his throat and Victor threw him a startled look. The prince wasn’t looking at him, but Victor could see his eyes and they were _watery._ Victor felt something sharp lodge itself in his throat. What should he say, what could he say, what-

 

Prince Yuuri exhaled sharply. “I thought-well. I was under the impression that, maybe, I don’t know. I just supposed that besides being my bodyguard or whatever, that, maybe-? I don’t know, I guess I just assumed-I thought you were my friend. That we were friends.”

 

Victor had no idea there had been a weight on his shoulders until he felt it lift at the prince’s admission. He opened his mouth, but Prince Yuuri continued talking. “It’s fine though. If we’re not friends. If it’s weird to be friends with me. You probably think I’m just a spoiled brat-I get it. It’s fine.”

 

“No,” Victor rushed to reassure, “No, we’re friends, Prince Yuuri.”

 

Prince Yuuri finally looked at him then, his eyes intense. “Are you saying that just because I’m your prince?”

 

Victor found himself meeting his gaze head-on. “Did you order me to?”

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“Then I didn’t say that just because you’re my prince.” Victor glanced back down-a final tug, and the laces came undone. Just to make sure Prince Yuuri wouldn’t have any doubt left, he added, “I was given a choice with this, Your Highness. If you had only been a spoiled prince, I promise I wouldn’t be so eager with this job.”

 

He could have worded that better. Victor belatedly realized he hadn’t even truly denied the-frankly, absurd-notion that Prince Yuuri was spoiled.

 

But when he met Prince Yuuri’s eyes again, the prince had a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes were shiny, this time with mischief, not tears. The earth shattered, but it had happened so many times now that Victor anticipated it, embraced it. “Too bad for you,” Prince Yuuri said, “I am a spoiled prince, I just haven’t revealed my true colors yet.”

 

“Too bad for me,” Victor agreed softly as he got to work on the other boot, “I’m too invested to back out now.”

 

 


	4. for a hundred indecisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: body horror??

_Yuuri-12, Victor-14_

 

Tonight, the constellation of stars that adorned the canopy of his bed were too bright.

 

He was obviously in his room. The moon cast slices of light through his large window, there was a chess set on the table, a couple of books on his nightstand, and a hooded figure standing at the edge of his bed.

 

Yuuri’s breath caught.

 

Yuuri slowly sat up as the figure approached him. They flowed easily on the ground like they didn’t have any feet. “Your Royal Highness,” they said, their voice scratching uncomfortably down Yuuri’s skin.

                                                                                   

This had happened before, this was familiar, and yet Yuuri could barely hide the growing dread in his voice as he replied, “hello.”

 

The figure was by his side now. There was a good amount of distance between them, but Yuuri could feel their breath blow into the side of his face. “Do you know why I’m here?”

 

He kept his eyes forward. “No.” They came whenever they wanted, no routine, no schedule. They would make themselves comfortable in his mind, contaminating it, infecting it, leaving mold seeping through his brain.

 

“Look at me, Your Highness,” they crooned, some mockery of kindness in their voice.

 

Yuuri shook his head, trying not to swallow. The figure continued to talk as if Yuuri hadn’t done anything. “You’ve gotten so comfortable, so happy. You nearly forgot me, didn’t you?”

 

As if he could forget this _thing._

Their hand was so cold as it wrapped around his neck. Yuuri wondered if the numbness was frostbite, if it was possible to buy a new neck after this. “You think you have someone now, you think you have a friend. That is _so interesting._ ”

 

“Victor is my friend, he said so-!“ Yuuri choked as the hand tightened its grip around his neck. He'd fallen into the trap. The figure hadn't even mentioned Victor, and yet Yuuri's mind had automatically defaulted to him.

 

“It’s a job, you silly boy. You are royalty, what makes you think he wouldn’t lie to please you?”

 

Yuuri didn’t know. But Victor’s eyes were always so kind, his voice and smile so bright, how could that be an act? He expertly held back the nauseated sound at the back of his throat when he felt another hand run through his hair. “You think, that he actually wants to be around you? You? An insolent child?”

 

Yuuri had forgotten about these insecurities; they were locked up somewhere so deep within in him that it was easy to pretend they’d never even existed.

 

“But you could find out,” they tried to persuade, “it would be easy for you to know.”

 

Yuuri could find out. It would be easy for him to know.  

 

“Look at what you are, little prince.” This time Yuuri had no choice but to turn his head, the figure’s hands coaxing him.

 

The hood had fallen back.

 

Yes, they had a head. A clear skull with skin draped loosely over it. And every free inch of that skin was occupied by an eye. They were horribly distorted eyes, some pupils too long, some irises dripping out of their sockets like melted chocolate. Yuuri’s own eyes stung, his vision swam, and something painful crawled up his throat, but _he would not cry._

“What do you see, Your Highness?” They didn’t have a mouth; a sagging, disgusting eyeball was nestled in the region where lips could have existed.

 

Yuuri could not answer, the hands on him were crushing now. “Where is your Victor now? Your bodyguard? Your _friend_?” They drew the last word out, mocking, cruel.

 

Yuuri could barely cough the words out. “He’s not here.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

How was he still able to breathe?  “I’m always-I’m always all alone.”

 

 

 

_“Your Highness!”_

Yuuri’s eyes shot open (they were closed?) and he wasn’t sitting up in his bed anymore. He was trapped under blankets, his head was cocooned by pillows, and a hand was approaching his face.

 

A safe hand, a comforting hand. Victor’s hand. Victor’s bare hand.

 

Yuuri jolted backward, his back attaching to the headboard like a magnet. “Don’t touch me!” He hissed out before he could stop himself.

 

Victor immediately drew his hand back, and the flash of confusion and hurt in his eyes was fleeting, but the consequent guilt hit Yuuri like a train with irreparable wreckage.

 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Victor murmured, looking away.

 

Yuuri hated the voice Victor was using, like he stood miles below Yuuri. “No, don’t-I’m sorry. Sorry for yelling.”

 

“You have nothing to apologize for.”  Victor held out Yuuri’s glasses and all Yuuri could do was look at them-at Victor’s hand-warily before Victor sighed and set them next to him. “Where are your gloves?”

 

“Top drawer,” Yuuri mumbled as he clumsily pushed his glasses onto his face. He did a quick scan around the room. The moon cast slices of light through his large window, there was a chess set on the table, a couple of books on his nightstand, and Victor kneeling on the ground next to his bed, going through said nightstand.

 

The rummaging stopped. There was a brief glow of red light, and then Victor asked, “you still have this?” He was holding up the fruit he had picked for Yuuri over a year ago.

 

Exhaustion was slowly starting to overtake the fear that had spurred him awake. “Yeah,” Yuuri shrugged, “I mean-you gave it to me, so of course.”

 

Victor’s eyes were unreadable for a moment, and then he looked away. The red glow disappeared as Victor pushed the fruit back in the drawer, and then he placed Yuuri’s gloves where he had previously put the glasses.

 

Yuuri sighed as he slid them on, what a pathetic dependence. He looked at Victor who was still kneeling on the ground, staring at Yuuri with a concerned furrow between his brows. Absurdly enough, Yuuri chose that moment to be thankful that his bed stood on a plush carpet, for the sake of Victor’s knees.

 

“Do you want to-? Would you like to talk about what happened?” Victor asked. He folded his arms over the edge of Yuuri's bed and rested his head on them.

 

Yuuri ran his hand through his hair, not quite sure how to phrase the situation. “I just had a…” A what, exactly? A _dream?_  Was it really a dream when he could only just feel the crippling ice around his neck start to thaw? When he could still feel the imprint of that clawed hand around his throat? “A nightmare.”

 

Victor made a soft noise of sympathy. “Then would you like to talk about that?”

 

Yuuri furiously shook his head. “No. No, I don’t want to think about it anymore.” He frowned down at Victor, who was peering at him from under his lashes. “How did you get-how did you know?”

 

“I couldn’t sleep, I was going to go out and practice, and then I-I thought I heard you.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Victor continued, “I got scared.”

 

“Mm.” Yuuri’s eyelids felt heavy, but he could still make out the hard worry in Victor’s eyes. “It’s okay. You know I get to choose who my door lets in. If someone tried to break in or crash through my window,” he took a moment to yawn, “I don’t know-the guard statues would have turned on and done stuff, probably.”

 

Victor had not reacted well when he had found out the guards outside Yuuri’s room weren’t even real people-just statues that would activate and blare alarms if someone unapproved tried to break in. Being reminded of them again made his eyes tighten.

 

Despite his half-asleep state, Yuuri thought he had done a good job at reassuring Victor, but the distressed expression he had on proved otherwise. Yuuri stopped making any effort to sit up and allowed himself to droop down the headboard and into his mattress. He dragged a pillow with him until his face was level with Victor’s. They were so close, Victor would only have to shift a little to touch his face. “Don’t worry. I’m safe. I’m safe here.”

 

It must be the light from the moon. That had to be what was making Victor’s eyes glow so much. He was looking at Yuuri with some particular emotion swirling in his eyes-something unclear, unrecognizable. His hand reached out to Yuuri’s face before his fingers curled in and he dropped his hand down with a sigh.

 

“You’re still wearing your glasses,” Victor informed. Yuuri grabbed them and carelessly flung them somewhere in the room. Victor’s eyes followed them wryly before they fell back on Yuuri. “Lilia is going to have your head for losing another pair.”

 

Yuuri hummed, letting Victor’s voice wash over him, but not really processing the words. As Victor moved to get up, a strike of clarity cut through the glaze of sleep. “Stay? Please stay?” For a moment, he hoped he did not sound desperate, but a face with too many eyes crawled through his mind, and then Yuuri didn’t care how embarrassingly desperate he sounded, he needed Victor to stay.

 

Victor did not offer a response (or maybe he did, but the clarity had faded as quickly as it had come), just lowered himself back into his original position.

 

Yuuri fell asleep like that, with not much distance between their faces.

 

* * *

 

When he awoke, it was with a start. It took several seconds for him to realize that Victor was sitting in an armchair next to his bed.

 

“Good morning,” he said, watching Yuuri carefully, “I had breakfast brought to you.” He gestured towards a tray sitting on a nightstand. Yuuri glanced at it: toast with some iridescent spread, sliced fruit, and juice. It looked healthy.

 

Yuuri groaned and buried his head into the pillow. “I want katsudon.”

 

“For breakfast?” Yuuri could hear the amusement in Victor’s voice.

 

“For everything,” he replied, tilting his head so he could look at Victor through one eye. “Thanks for staying. You didn’t have to.”

 

“Of course, Your Highness,” Victor said, eyes soft. “How are you feeling now? Everything okay?”

 

Yuuri finally sat up and raised a brow at Victor. “You sound like I nearly died or something. People get bad dreams, you know.” Then, at Victor’s persisting expression, he grudgingly added, “I feel fine, Victor.”

 

Victor noticeably relaxed. “Then-well, I’m late for training.” He glanced out the window and grimaced at the pouring sunlight, “Very late, actually. May I leave, Your Majesty?”

 

Yuuri’s eyes widened, the final remnants of drowsiness fading away. “Yes! Yeah, of course! I’m sorry-you shouldn’t have stayed this long if you had-.”

 

Victor grinned as he stood up. “It was my pleasure. You’re funny when you sleep. I’ll see you later, then?”

 

Yuuri sputtered, his face feeling distinctly warm. Victor was watching him sleep? How was he funny-? “Yeah. I mean yes-whatever, get out.”

 

The amused look Victor shot back at him as he was leaving had Yuuri scowling.

 

Almost immediately after Victor left, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Yuuri glanced distastefully at his breakfast before pulling his blankets around him and collapsing back into his bed. That dream had brought forth a hurricane of doubts and without Victor around him, the thoughts twisted maliciously into the forefront of his mind.

 

He knew the two of them were friends, best friends. He had no reason to think Victor was lying when he had said they were friends during his tenth birthday. He couldn’t be lying when he’d sneak pieces of greasy pork (banned ever since Yuuri started his training) into Yuuri’s hand and then say, “What are friends for?” at Yuuri’s shocked face. He couldn’t be lying when he’d forget their statuses and criticize Yuuri’s poor defensive maneuvers so harshly it would send the soldiers teaching him sputtering at the supposed disrespect.

 

“ _But what if.”_ It was that disgusting, scratching voice that whispered in his mind. _“People change. He has a life, he shouldn’t have to put up with you. What if. What if. What if.”_

 

Much to the dismay of Celestino, then Minako, and finally whatever lieutenant was tutoring him that day, these thoughts prevented him from doing anything remotely productive for the rest of the day.

 

It was approaching evening now, and judging by Victor’s relaxed posture, only Yuuri was feeling the tension in the room. He was sitting with his back against the wall, lazily wiping a towel over a dagger. It was one Yuuri had gotten him for his birthday. It hadn’t been fused with any type of magic yet as Victor hadn’t made up his mind on what he preferred. The blade was long and the hilt was a polished wood with the royal family insignia engraved in silver. Yuuri saw him clean it often but never use it.

 

He looked back down at the book he had open in front of him. It was the story of how humans learned to work with magic. This version was full of flowery language typical to fairytales, but there was truth behind it. Yuuri allowed his eyes to run over the pages, the entire story already memorized: Something disastrous had happened long ago (so long ago that current scholars still debated over dates and timelines), and the hero of the story learned to tap into magic and shared their knowledge with other humans, who had yet to recognize or access it. Generators were built to strengthen magic and fuse it with elements and natural objects to create amazing technology and weaponry. By working with humans, magic grew stronger, burned brighter, and did beautiful things to the world around them.

 

Yuuri briefly recalled that he had once told Victor he’d tell him this story. He glanced back at Victor. He could tell him the story now. “Can’t you do that in the barracks or something?”

 

Yuuri wanted to scream because _why would he say that._

Victor froze for a moment, and then looked at Yuuri, his eyes uncertain. “Do you want me to leave?”

 

“No!” Yuuri exclaimed too loudly, before taking a breath and continuing in a lower voice, “I just thought you might want to spend time with other people. You mentioned someone named Christophe a few times. Don’t you want to hang out with him?”

 

Victor looked confused. “I guess? I mean, I see him nearly every day.”

 

“Then what about dates?” Yuuri persisted. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing that stuff?”

 

Victor gave him a teasing smile. “What makes you think I’m not? Do you think I just sit around waiting for you when our free time doesn’t match up?”

 

“What?!” Yuuri’s eyes widened. “Hold on-you never told me you were going on dates!”

 

Victor burst into laughter. “I’m just kidding. No, I actually do just sit around and wait for you.”

 

Yuuri’s face warmed at that, and this really should have been the end of this conversation, but he couldn’t help but press on. “So you don’t resent me?”

 

Victor set the dagger down and looked at Yuuri through narrowed eyes. “I don’t know what's bringing this on. Is it what I said last week about your blocking tactics? You know I didn’t-.”

 

“No, that’s not it,” Yuuri interrupted, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to spend all this time with me, because of your-because of this obligation.”

 

Victor looked at him pensively for such a long moment that Yuuri started fidgeting under his gaze. “Okay,” Victor dragged the word out carefully, “good thing you’re my best friend so being with you never feels like a job.”

 

Yuuri blushed darker and looked away. He said it so earnestly, as if it were as true as water being wet. How could Victor just melt his worries without even being aware of them? Yuuri felt annoyed with himself for even bringing this topic up. “I want to go to Capitol City.”

 

"Prince Yuuri, I think we should-," Victor started, probably wanting to ignore Yuuri's sad attempt at a topic change, but then Victor's lips twisted with resignment and thankfully he decided to humor Yuuri instead.“Right now? It’s getting late.”

 

Yuuri threw a glance at his window. The sky was taking on a shade of pink, but it was still blue enough. “There’s still going to be a lot of stores open. Can we?”

 

Victor smiled and stood up, sheathing the dagger. “Lead the way, Prince Yuuri.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Capitol City was beautiful in its quaintness. The sea was nearby and the air always smelled clean with a touch of brine. There was no distinct theme to the architecture, an illustration of Hasetsu’s wide diversity. Most of the streets were cobbled, making any transportation besides horses and carriages difficult, but it just added to the city’s charm. The city was practically built for tourism.

 

People turned to bow low if they saw Yuuri and there were whispers of “Your Highness” but besides that, they were left alone.

 

“What were you hoping to do?” Victor asked, his eyes darting around the various stalls and storefronts.

 

Yuuri shrugged, shooting him a guilty smile. Yuuri had only wanted to get away from that conversation, and Capitol City was the first thing that came to mind. “I don’t know, it was kind of an impulse…” Yuuri trailed off as his eyes landed on a large, open stand. He tugged on Victor’s sleeve and whispered frantically, “look!” He didn’t wait for Victor’s reaction and started taking large strides towards the stall that caught his attention.

 

Victor easily fell into step with him. “What is-oh.” He stopped short at the same time as Yuuri did in front of the stall. There was a large spacious cage with several different dogs playing around and yipping at each other.

 

Their keeper, who was reading a newspaper on a foldout chair caught sight of them and stumbled into a bow. “Your Highness! What a pleasure!”

 

Yuuri barely looked at him. “Can we play with them?”

 

The man nodded furiously. “Of course! Anything you wish.”

 

Yuuri and Victor bent down in front the dogs and they were immediately showered with attention. A small, fluffy brown one particularly nosed at his hand. “Aren’t they so cute?”

 

Victor’s eyes glittered happily as he met Yuuri’s. “Really cute.”

 

Eventually, most of the dogs went back to playing amongst each other, though they would occasionally run back over for a pat on the head. However, the small brown one had not left Yuuri’s side and was now rolled over to enjoy the belly rubs Yuuri gifted him with. Victor was in a similar state with a dog that was basically a larger version of the one with Yuuri giving him excited licks.

 

“Do you want to get them?” Yuuri asked, gesturing to the two dogs in front of them.

 

“Really? Would that be okay?” Victor asked, even as he kept stroking the top of the dog’s head.

 

“Yes!” Yuuri nodded, smiling down as the smaller dog nudged at his hand. “What would you name it?”

 

“It’s a her,” the keeper offered helpfully, “and the one His Highness is playing with is a boy.”

 

Victor frowned thoughtfully at the dog, which immediately turned into a surprised laugh at the sudden lick she gave him. “Makkachin, probably. You?”

 

Yuuri glimpsed at Victor, his cheeks coloring. “Um, Vicchan, I think.”

 

Victor looked at him curiously. “Vicchan? Isn’t that…?”

 

“Named after you,” Yuuri replied, staring down at the dog. He shouldn’t have said that; it was probably too weird. He should say it was a joke-

 

“Oh. _Okay.”_  When Yuuri turned to look at Victor, anxious at his stammered response, he swiftly turned his face away and covered it with his hand. Yuuri could make out a patch of red spreading over the top of Victor's ear. “My prince. I-thank you. What an honor.”

 

Yuuri grinned, feeling relief flow through him. “It’s an honor that I named my dog after you?”

 

Whatever moment they were having was ruined by the keeper then, who interjected, “Will you be getting the dogs, then?”

 

After the transaction was complete (and a reluctant picture was taken with the keeper because “ _My daughter won’t believe I saw the prince!”_ ) the two of them made their way back to the palace with their new companions in tow.

 

“I wasn’t expecting this to happen,” Victor admitted around Makkachin’s licks.

 

“I don’t think you have any complaints.” Yuuri’s playful response was muffled due to his face being buried in Vicchan’s fur.

 

Yuuri peeked at Victor and he felt his chest get inexplicably warmer at the look of adoration on Victor’s face as he stared at Makkachin. “No,” Victor replied, and Yuuri nearly stumbled when their eyes suddenly met. “No complaints.”

 


	5. i wanted to have ragged claws

 

  

_Yuuri – 14, Victor – 15_

Victor wrapped his hand around Yuuri’s door knocker and at the familiar buzz of acceptance, pushed it open. Makkachin wasted no time in pushing past him to get into the room and Victor heard the friendly barking between her and Vicchan before he even saw them.

 

“Are you ready yet?” Victor asked, sidestepping Vicchan as he chased after Makkachin.

 

Yuuri shot him a miserable look through the mirror in response as Lilia tugged at his hair with more aggression than probably necessary. “I left Drusskia for this?” She barked angrily down at Yuuri’s hair as if it would offer an answer.

 

Victor ignored the dull throb of _something_ that ran through him at the sight of Lilia’s bare hands brushing against Yuuri’s forehead. Was it curiosity? It was definitely not jealousy. Maybe envy? How were the two even different? Deciphering emotions did not come as easily as wielding blades.

 

Through the years, Victor had seen Yuuri’s grimaces and strained smiles at being touched tone down to inconspicuously stiff shoulders. While Yuuri seemed okay with his family and Lady Minako touching him (though they did so rarely), he made good effort to silently avoid skin-to-skin contact whenever it wasn’t considered disrespectful to do so. Victor wanted to take solace in the fact that this complex Yuuri had wasn’t just with him, but he would never be able to find relief in anything that caused Yuuri discomfort.

 

Though not for lack of trying, they hardly spent enough time together anymore-Victor had his brutally accelerated training regimen along with stringent academic classes and Yuuri was busy doing his "prince stuff". While Victor had other friends to spend his meager free time with, and he was sure Yuuri had his own now as well, Yuuri being his closest person was the easiest truth in his life. It was weird thinking of a time when that wasn't a truth. He recalled having played up the dramatics _a bit,_ but he still cringed when he thought back to the earliest days of their friendship, back when he didn’t know how to act around royalty and would drop to his knees with bows, shower praises, press courtesy kisses and just go about with overblown displays of formality and respect. He had stopped when he noticed literally nobody else went that far, but it wasn’t like those embarrassing, awkward memories would ever leave him.

 

Now though-

 

“Haven’t you tortured our Royal Highness’ hair enough?” Victor asked, casually flopping down on Yuuri’s bed. He returned Yuuri's thankful glance with a reassuring grin.

 

Lilia glared at him witheringly but released Yuuri from her clutches. “I should cut yours,” she threatened Victor.

 

Victor played with the ends of a few escaped strands of his hair. “A haircut from the royal designer? I couldn’t accept that honor.”

 

Lilia’s expression only seemed to sour at the exaggerated compliment, but deemed it unworthy of a response, instead choosing to help Yuuri put on a thick cloak. She stepped back and gave Yuuri a final glance over before settling him with, “I guess I can’t do any better than this.”

 

Her bleak assessment went right over Yuuri’s head as he turned to Victor. “How do I look?” He asked, holding up the ends of the cloak and flapping the fabric like wings.

 

Despite Lilia's best efforts, Yuuri's style in clothing had remained stagnant. At least Victor had the excuse of wearing a uniform. Lilia would try to throw in something that illustrated tasteful opulence (this time, the regal cloak) but Yuuri always dressed relatively simple. Long-sleeved poet or dress shirts that overlapped his gloves and tucked into trousers that tapered over shiny shoes or into boots. And always in black, so Victor was mildly surprised that Lilia had achieved to get him to wear a white shirt for once.

 

Still, even if Yuuri wasn’t wearing his crown, Victor would have no doubt he was royalty. So, he replied honestly, “like a prince.” 

 

Yuuri grinned appreciatively. “You’re finally wearing the gloves I got you.”

 

Victor looked down at his last birthday present. They were battle gloves, but they were so _pretty._ The threads interlaced over each other in a blatantly complex pattern and the protective metal plates shined with reflective silver leafing. “They’re too nice to wear out every day,” he explained, standing up.

 

Yuuri opened his mouth to argue that but Lilia interjected loudly, “Let’s not have a repeat of last year, shall we?” She held the door open, silently urging the two of them to leave. “Don’t forget the trade gala is a political event.” She narrowed her eyes at them as they passed by her while distinctly avoiding her gaze, and sternly added, “no shenanigans.”

 

The trade gala was a huge festival that sprawled throughout Capitol City. Renowned merchants and promising start-up entrepreneurs representing different districts in Hasetsu would fill up the streets to show off local products. In theory, the event sounded fun, but for Victor, it mostly consisted of following Yuuri around with a polite smile.  _Sometimes,_ people actually had something interesting to show so it wasn't a total waste.

 

Last year, Victor and Yuuri had fallen asleep in the kitchens after treating themselves to huge doses of Katsudon before palace guards found them and Yuuri barely managed to show up for the last five minutes of the event. It hadn’t looked too good, but the whole event was swept under the rug on account to Princess Mari’s excellent PR work. However, the two of them had still gotten a stern (more so with Victor) lecture from the king and queen on how being young didn’t exempt them from responsibilities.

 

“How have you been?” Yuuri asked as they made their way towards the palace exit. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

 

“We saw each other a week ago,” Victor reminded. “Your birthday party.”

 

“But you had to be there,” Yuuri complained and then smiled, “I don’t think I got to thank you for your present."

 

Victor reached behind his back to self-consciously adjust the hilt of one of his swords. "I wanted to be there," He corrected. “And you should thank Yakov. I wouldn’t have been able to get those flowers if he hadn’t taken me to Drusskia.” 

 

“You really need all those weapons?” Yuuri asked skeptically, his eyes following the length of the two swords attached to Victor’s back down to the dagger at his side. “You only brought your dagger for the last two years.”

 

“These are new.” Victor grinned at Yuuri and rolled his shoulder to give the swords a slight jostle. “I want to get used to their weight.”

 

Yuuri didn’t carry any weapons, but Victor knew the cell phone he had been given could dispatch guards in moments. “How is your training going? We haven’t sparred in a few months.”

 

Yuuri rolled his eyes, his expression souring. “As well as can be expected.”

 

Victor didn’t really believe Yuuri. Though he did not have the innate talent Victor did, Yuuri learned alarmingly fast. Their fighting styles were markedly different. Victor’s movements and footwork were all technical, clean-cut, determined and sharp. Yuuri moved like he was dancing, flowing.

 

It wasn’t something Victor could ever imitate, and-between criticisms-he had told Yuuri so, but by now he was also well-acquainted with Yuuri’s low self-esteem. He gave Yuuri a gentle shove. “I heard trash talking the crown prince gets you arrested.”

 

"You heard wrong," Yuuri vehemently denied, but the small smile on his face lingered even after he shoved Victor back.

 

* * *

 

The gala was…vibrant. Loud. Clashing.

 

Everyone automatically made way for Yuuri, bowing low, but the whole event was crowded. People were yelling and there was excited blabber as friends and couples dragged each other to different displays and stands. The air was thick and pleasant with the mix of different food and the sea.

 

Victor and Yuuri went from stand to stand and Yuuri asked everyone the same questions, changing nouns and adjectives based on what was being offered. If Victor didn’t know better he’d think Yuuri actually cared about what was going on, but he saw the imperceptibly bored glaze in his eyes.

 

“It’s just,” Yuuri whispered furiously as they walked away from a display, “so weird? Who needs bottles that trap sound? People have cell phones?”

 

Victor bit back a laugh. “The novelty is nice though, right? The idea sounds pretty.”

 

“Okay then, what would you use something like that for?”

 

Victor put a finger to his chin and pretended to give the question serious thought. “I’d trap one of Yakov’s rage rants and just have it lay about. Someone’s bound to open it and get the fright of their life.”

 

“I feel like that someone would be you,” Yuuri said bluntly.

 

“So cold,” Victor whined, pressing a hand to his chest.

 

The next few displays went by in a similar fashion, Yuuri showed genuine interest in two displays that had biriyani samples and shawls that changed color based on mood, but everything else was treated with expertly faked enthusiasm.

 

“Your Highness,” one woman greeting politely, giving a graceful bow. She was dressed smartly, with red accents lining her outfit.

 

Yuuri’s eyes searched at the corner of the stand to find the flag pinned underneath the Hasetsu flag. “Oh,” he said, his face brightening. “Khwam.”

 

The Chulanont family governed Khwam. Victor didn’t have all the districts of Hasetsu memorized yet, but he knew this because Yuuri was good friends with Phichit Chulanont. He had only seen Phichit once when he had randomly video called Yuuri, but he had heard the lord was a social media fiend.

 

“Is that Gaeng Ke-sorry.” Yuuri blushed before he tried again, “chicken curry?”

 

The woman smiled indulgently. “Gaeng Keow Wan Kai. Green chicken curry.”

 

The large dish was put together like an art piece: a mint green canvas decorated with red peppers and herbs. Victor was sure the amount they ate was more than what could be labeled a sample. “Tell Lord Phichit I said hi,” Yuuri joked with a goodbye wave.

 

It was back to the acting after that.

 

Yuuri was yawning as they neared the last stand. Victor couldn’t blame him; it had been a long walk throughout Capitol City and Yuuri’s shoes looked pointy and painful. The man behind the last stand was in a more casual getup-flowy sleeves and an informal, droopy neckline. His long hair was tied up in a messy bun and his eyes were kind. He gave Yuuri and Victor a relaxed smile. “Long day, hm?”

 

Neither of them heard him. Victor’s eyes ran over the oddly bare stand. There were no catchy slogans, a lack of decorations, and the table was empty besides a couple of gaudy chalices. Yuuri was frowning at the flag. “This is so rude, please forgive me,” he spoke delicately, “but I don’t think I recognize your flag?”

 

“Oh!” The man suddenly looked flustered. “I-um, your eyes must be tired from having to see so many flags all day. Please don’t worry about it, Your Highness, there is nothing to forgive! I-I mostly cleaned up because I didn’t think you’d get to my display but here you are and-well, I still have these out…?”

 

“They’re very nice,” Yuuri said graciously, while he and Victor exchanged a subtle, bewildered look. “What are they made out of—?”

 

Yuuri barely finished his question when the man blurted out, “Why did you allow for an extension of the military exchange program with Drusskia?”

 

Yuuri’s eyes widened in surprise for a half-second, before his face fell into an impassive mask. “I had nothing to do with that. It was King and Queen Katsuki.”

 

“Then what about the Ravdanians? Why are you letting them stay in Pyaar? And you’re—”

 

Victor took a step forward the same time Yuuri took one back. People asked political questions once in a while, but nothing like this had ever happened at the last few galas. “I haven’t been involved in any politics for a few years,” Yuuri said this slowly, “and besides public appearances, I’ll most likely be staying out of it until my education is complete. A statement was released regarding this a while back.”

 

The man flushed darkly and wrung his hands. “I-I must be making you uncomfortable. I just-It’s my first time being chosen to come here, you see…” The man went on in his rambling while Victor stared dubiously at the chalices. He’d been chosen to show off oversized cups? And from where? Victor glanced back to the flag and wracked his brain, wishing he had bothered to pay attention to those boring lessons Yakov had signed him up for.

 

“…and this one has cider in it,” the man was still talking. “It is well-known throughout the nation how much our Royal Highness loves cider, so I prepared this chalice just for you.”

 

The hair on the back of Victor’s neck stood up. Yuuri’s food and drink preferences were not well-known. In fact, they were simply just not known. Of all the rumors that ran rampant about Yuuri-at least amongst soldiers and trainees-what he liked to drink was at the bottom of the list of things people wanted to know.

 

He exchanged another significant look with Yuuri before he cheerfully asked, “How about you drink it first?”

 

The man’s eyes snapped to Victor’s, wide and shocked. “I’m sorry?”

 

“It’s tradition,” Victor lied, then tilted his head curiously. “You need to drink it first before offering it to His Highness. Shouldn’t you know Hasetsu customs?”

 

The man could have called him out on it, could have said he’d never heard of such a thing, but he gave a shaky nod and brought the chalice up to his mouth. “Of course-I—” Something shifted almost imperceptibly in the man’s eyes.

 

Everything after happened too fast.

 

The man’s arm jerked back awkwardly, unnaturally. Victor didn’t have to think to seize the back of Yuuri’s cloak and tug him away from the onslaught of whatever liquid was in that cup. He barely registered the sizzling sound of disintegration as it landed where Yuuri had stood a moment ago.

 

There was red clawing angrily, fearfully into his vision. When had he pulled his dagger out- _when had he flung it?_  Victor watched the dagger swivel in the air, move with a precision and force only possible with a weapon infused with magic. The man didn’t even get a chance to breathe, the point of the dagger slammed into his throat with a strength that threw him back into the wooden support of the stand, leaving him hanging from it, his feet dangling inches above the ground. The magic seeped insidiously out of the blade, the ice leaving the confines of the dagger and turning the man’s throat a shadowy blue.

 

Victor was aware of his surroundings. Almost always. He could hear people yelling behind him, around him, but there was a roar in his ears that pushed every other sound aside. His eyes were on the man’s throat, at the way the magic continued to crumble and destroy the skin of his throat along with whatever was underneath it, despite the fact that the man’s eyes were already lifeless.

 

Victor was intimately familiar with magic, having worked hard enough to become compatible with nearly every type used with weapons. Arrows that burst into blue flames in the sky, swords that burned to the touch, rapiers that charged with lightning. Magic made weapons faster, more durable, more powerful in a supernatural way, but in the end, they were all just different ways to hinder, to cause pain.

 

It was teamwork. The magic that thrummed through and brought life to the dagger did so by feeding and projecting from Victor’s own emotions. Victor had not simply wanted to stop that man, he hadn’t desired to just bring him harm, he had _intended to kill him._

“Victor,” Yuuri said urgently, his voice the only thing that cut past Victor’s tumultuous mind. “We need to go, they brought horses.”

 

“My dagger—” Victor protested. “You gave it to me.”

 

“It’s fine,” Yuuri assured ( _why was he so calm?_ ). “The guards will get it.”

 

Victor followed behind Yuuri on a horse, the guards pushing the crowd away from them. The silence between them was thick for a solid minute before Yuuri broke it. “Are you okay?”

 

Victor nearly choked and stared at Yuuri with wide eyes. “Am I—? Are you serious? You nearly died!” Victor winced right after, the thought of Yuuri dying was incomprehensible, a painful burn across his mind.

 

Yuuri looked unsure. “I mean—thank you for saving me? I—I really owe you one.”

 

“Owe me one…?” Victor couldn’t believe the direction this conversation was going in. “No,” he bit out, and Yuuri looked mildly concerned, which only served to irritate him more. “No, why are being so normal about this?”

 

“Normal?” Yuuri repeated feebly, confused.

 

“You aren’t scared? Shaken up? Anything at all?” Victor pressed.

 

Realization dawned on Yuuri’s face. “I was scared, Victor. I was scared the whole time, but—” his eyes flickered around and he lowered his voice, “this has happened before, I’m used to it.”

 

“Oh right, you’re used to it,” Victor said, feeling weak. They didn’t talk about that. They didn’t talk much about  _those_  things in general-Victor would much rather sneak bowls of Katsudon with Yuuri, annoy palace workers with Yuuri, joke with Yuuri. Victor didn’t know how to talk about the things that burdened the prince, didn’t know how to understand them. And now suddenly, Victor felt like he was the one in over his head.

 

A small burst of anger flared in him. “To answer your question, no. No, I’m not okay, and I would appreciate it, _Your Highness,_ ” Victor said the royal address without any of his usual playful familiarity, “if you could be a little on edge about this. Because you very nearly—” Victor stopped abruptly; he couldn’t repeat the word.

 

“This comes with the premises of my position. I can’t be surprised when these situations arise and I need to be ready to respond in a way that doesn’t harm my nation.” Yuuri sounded like he recited this straight from a textbook and Victor didn’t know whether he was unsettled or frustrated.

 

“Okay, seriously? Prince Yuuri I—” Victor wasn’t able to say anything else because in that moment their horses moved through the palace gates, and to Victor’s utter dread, the royal family was waiting just inside.

 

“Yuuri,” Queen Katsuki breathed out, walking quickly up to Yuuri and pressing a hand to his knee. After taking a second to observe his face, she turned to gaze at Victor with grateful, soft look in her eyes. “Victor we are so thankful for what you did. And _so_ proud.”

 

Victor bowed as best as he could from the horse. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” His eyes moved back to Yuuri, who was making a valiant effort to not meet Victor’s gaze.

 

“Victor.” King Katsuki’s authoritative voice snapped Victor’s attention to the stern eyes of the king. “I would like to talk to you privately in my office. A guard will take the horse.”

 

“Father—” Yuuri protested immediately.

 

“Nobody is in trouble,” the king said.

 

“Actually,” Princess Mari interjected as she took the reins from Yuuri’s hands, “someone would be in trouble if they weren’t dead.” Queen Katsuki and Yuuri both clamored to admonish her.

 

Victor wished that, rather than landing on the grass when he got off the saddle, his feet would have just sunk right through the ground and he’d disappear for a few days.

 

* * *

 

If this was some type of intimidation tactic, Victor reckoned it was working well. King Katsuki was sitting at his table, working through some documents, while Victor rocked back-and-forth next to the armchair on the other side.

 

The king’s eyes flicked up to him for a second before looking back down. “You may sit.”

 

It was a generic command, but there was something oddly reminiscent about the way he said it. Victor sat down immediately, keeping his back straight. After a few more minutes of highly awkward silence, the king set his pen down with a sigh and looked at Victor. “I want to start by saying thank you. Queen Katsuki and I are very grateful. So is Princess Katsuki, though she may act otherwise.”

 

Victor’s eyes widened and he bowed his head. “There’s no need to thank me, Your Majesty—”

 

“You're still training to be his bodyguard,” King Katsuki cut through. “You’re not getting paid for this, and speaking of that, I have a long list of things to tell you, so I hope you’ll listen.”

 

All Victor could really do was nod.

 

“It seems…that maybe we have gone about this the wrong way. Crown Pri-Yuuri. Yuuri was obviously never friends with any of his past bodyguards. They were all much older, with years of experience under their belt.” The king gave Victor a look at that and it took a solid amount of effort for Victor to not bristle up. “I am not saying you aren’t talented Victor, but there is so much you have to learn. It’s comforting for us to know you have a reason to protect Yuuri beyond the simple requirement to do so, but that is not enough.”

 

The king paused and rearranged his papers. Victor wished the king would just get to the point, or at least some type of _end,_ because he had no idea where this conversation was going. King Katsuki’s hand rubbed at the polished wood of the table and he looked lost in thought. “Yuuri is an invaluable asset to our government…and of course, we love him.”

 

Something about that sentence struck Victor in an odd way.

 

“I went along with this play…this arrangement,” he continued on, making a broad gesture with his hand, “because what happened today wasn’t supposed to happen. We had made the decision that once Yuuri started his education he would be out of all political affairs until it was complete. He has been a great help in our major diplomatic decisions, but if he is to rule, then the education he needs to do so must take first priority. Yuuri wasn't  _supposed_   to be in any dangerous situations."

 

Victor was completely lost on what this man was talking about. He knew that the brunt of Yuuri’s lessons had started around a year ago, only because of Yuuri's complaints about homework and the large gaps between the time they spent together. But he didn't know why he was being given this information. It was nearly too much considering Victor was still a tad bit reeling from the fact that he’d just _killed someone._

King Katsuki was staring at Victor with an annoyed furrow in his brow. “Oh. Oh, okay. I see. I see.” _What did he see?_  “Why don't you tell me about today?”

 

“I—” Victor cleared this throat and swallowed. The questions was abrupt and broad, Victor could only assume the king was referring to whatever was related to Yuuri. “I went with Prince Yuuri to the trade gala. A little late I guess, but um, early afternoon I think. We went to every stand and display and then we got to the last one and neither of us recognized the flag? But it was an older man, and well, he started asking Prince Yuuri all these questions, something about Ravdan? I don’t know! But we both felt really weird and then-um? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill him, the magic just?? It just—?”

 

Victor found himself floundering. He couldn’t say it out loud. Saying he had murdered someone out loud was almost as bad as imagining what could have happened if he hadn’t.

 

The king’s eyes softened. “I said earlier that you weren’t in trouble. But Victor, I believe that you know enough about magic to be aware that your intent with it can play a big part in what it does. This was no accident.”

 

Something in Victor sunk. The king was right, he knew this, but the verbal confirmation still made his stomach churn. 

 

There was only one reason the ice had bled out of the dagger and into the man’s skin. Victor remembered the blazing rage that had clouded his vision. In that brief cut of time, he had wanted _nothing more than to—_

“It would have been nice if you got him alive, but I suppose if you used a weapon he would have died no matter where you hit him,” The king smiled, but Victor didn’t find it very funny. King Katsuki coughed lightly and continued, “It’s no matter, I’m sure the guards will be able to do a face-match with the security cameras. I have a proposal for you, one that I hope you'll take seriously.”

 

Once again, the last bit left Victor a little lost. Victor wondered what would happen if he said he didn’t want to listen and just left.  He did consider it, but unfortunately, King Katsuki took his silence as a sign to go on. “Captain Yakov will be returning back to Drusskia soon, it is the end of his time for the exchange program. I suggest that you go there with him and get your soldierly experience there, perhaps see if that is even what you want to do? If you are still interested, then we will welcome you with open arms.”

 

The idea left an acrid taste in his mouth. The only good memory he had of Drusskia was Yakov taking him away from there. He registered one thing clearly though. “I do want to do this,” he declared, “so please do not consider anyone else as Prince Yuuri’s bodyguard, Your Majesty.”

 

“Yuuri will be your friend, even if you aren’t his bodyguard,” King Katsuki assured him. “You just walked into this position, gullible, knowing nothing—” _Okay, he wasn’t stupid_ “—and you should have time to be away from possible influences to figure out if this is what you want.”

 

Victor opened and closed his mouth a few times. He wasn’t sure what sort of response the king was expecting. Victor wasn’t even sure what sort of response he himself was expecting.

 

King Katsuki gave Victor a dry smile. “I apologize for doubting your abilities all this time. You obviously have a lot of skill.”

 

This, Victor could respond to. He pressed his head down, bowing as well as he could while sitting. “No apologies necessary, Your Majesty.”

 

“Kind of you,” the king’s voice grew stern and dismissive. “Captain Yakov will give you more details on the military exchange program and you can explore your options with him. Good talk, Victor."

 

* * *

 

It had gotten dark too fast.

 

It was weird to be sitting under the tree without Yuuri. It had been their spot since before they had been bold enough to call each other friends out loud. Makkachin had lain on his lap for all of three minutes before jumping up to chase after the bobbing orbs of light.

 

The red glow of the fruit hanging above combined with the blue orbs floating around to create a purple hue around Victor. He turned his hand back-and-forth, watching the patterns form on his glove from the shade of the leaves.

 

He did not regret killing the man. If Victor could go back in time, then yes, he would have liked to go about it a different way, but there was no regret. It scared him, maybe terrified him. Even if the magic hadn’t reacted so strongly to his desires and seeped out of the dagger, the sharp weapon had moved too fast, with too much precision, beyond the typical enhancement magic gave to weapons. It had channeled Victor’s intent even before it had hit the man. Victor pressed the back of his head against the bark and closed his eyes.

 

_He had killed someone. The frostbitten throat. The dead skin. The lifeless eyes._

 

He took a shuddering breath in an attempt to compose himself and looked to the side; he had felt Yuuri approaching before he had heard him. Victor tapped the side of his head, indicating Yuuri’s glasses. “I don’t see those on very often.”

 

“It’s dark, I didn’t want to trip on something,” Yuuri explained, sitting down next to Victor. Makkachin ran up to Yuuri to enjoy a bit of affection before bounding back to chase after the orbs.

 

“How did you find me?” Victor asked.

 

Yuuri shrugged. “I didn’t. I had a lot on my mind, and, well-this has always been the place to go, I guess.”

 

There was a beat of silence.  “What’s on your mind, then?”

 

Victor could see Yuuri’s lips twitch up out of the corner of his eye. “A lot,” Yuuri answered.

 

Despite himself, Victor couldn’t help a small laugh. “Okay. Different question, how are you feeling?”

 

“I’m fine,” Yuuri enunciated, then bluntly added, “you’re the one who killed someone, how do you feel?”

 

It was déjà vu of the disjointed conversation they'd had while returning to the castle. Except now, everything Victor felt was collapsing in, rather than exploding out.

 

“Fine,” Victor echoed, though of all the emotions running through him, _fine_ probably couldn't describe any of them. Victor sucked a breath in. He wanted to say a lot of things: apologize for the way he had raised his voice earlier, had tried to take his own fear and anger out on Yuuri, _explain_ why he had done so, ask for some type of explanation in return. He proceeded to do none of those things. “It’s just-and this isn’t even about me, sorry-it’s just that when we were riding back, and you were talking about being used to it? I think I got worried? I—” Victor cut himself off with a groan and pressed his head back harder against the tree trunk. “Never mind. I don’t know, I don’t know anything.”

 

An oppressive silence passed before Yuuri spoke. His voice was hushed, anxious. “I know too many things. But I never know what to do with it. It’s just there, and if someone needs to know something or has a question, I tell them, even if I don’t really get it myself. And sometimes," and here he broke off, his eyes flittering nervously to meet Victor's, "it's not the answer that they want or the answer that I want to give, but it's all I have. Do you…do you understand?”

 

Victor rubbed at his temple. The correct answer was no, Victor did not understand. “Yeah, I understand.” It was as if they were walking in circles around each other. He couldn't remember the last time it had been like this; like they were talking on different wavelengths.

 

There was another beat of silence.

 

“I’m going—”

 

“I heard—”

 

They both stopped and smiled nervously at each other. “You can go first,” Yuuri allowed.

 

“I’m going to Drusskia with Yakov. To train. Explore options. I don’t know what options, but I’ll be exploring them.” Yuuri’s lips quirked with amusement at that, but overall, he didn’t look all that surprised. “You knew about this?” Victor ventured.

 

Yuuri nodded. “Mother kind of told me what you and father would be talking about. That you might want to go away.” A hesitant pause, and then Yuuri followed up with, “Would you come back?”

 

“There is no question about it,” Victor confirmed fiercely, and then gave Yuuri a determined smile. “I already told the king this, but you better not get another bodyguard.”

 

“The way things are looking, I don’t think I’ll have any room in my schedule for getting attacked,” Yuuri assured, beaming back. “I’ll be training hard, so I expect you to keep up with me.”

 

Victor’s smile sharpened at the challenge, the mental frenzy within him had slowed, and Victor didn’t doubt that it would pick up the pace again, but for now, he allowed himself to enjoy this. “I expect you won’t eat dirt the next time we duel.”

 

They bantered back and forth, so far away from their stilted conversation mere moments ago, until that fizzled out into a gentle quiet. Victor felt a pull at his hand and when he looked down, he saw that Yuuri had wrapped his pinky around Victor’s. The frenzy sped up, not to the full force it had gone at earlier, but fast enough that Victor felt a sting in his eyes and he wanted to pull Yuuri close, so close, because Yuuri could have died—

 

Victor gave a playful tug at their joined pinkies.

 

Yuuri shifted, and with his free hand, pulled a small box out from under his cloak. He held it out to Victor. “This is for you.”

 

Victor’s eyes flickered to the small box. It was a very particular size, and Victor really couldn’t help it. “I would say yes, but I think we’re legally too young to get married.”

 

Yuuri groaned and pushed the box at him, but his eyes were bright. “Wow, just open it.”

 

Victor snickered and smoothly pushed apart the latch with his thumb. As expected, inside was a ring. Unexpected, was what the ring symbolized. The gem was a large, bright sapphire, with the royal family insignia glowing noticeably through it. The only person he had seen wearing it outside of the royal family was Lady Minako. Victor looked up at Yuuri questioningly. “Prince Yuuri…?”

 

Yuuri cleared his throat, fixing his gaze on the ring. “It’s fused with cell magic. If any of us are in pain or danger our rings heat up. Yours is only connected to mine though, and if you want to make the connection two-way or something, we can get the jeweler to do that, but,” Yuuri’s fingers tightened around the box, “that’s not why I’m offering this. I just wanted you to remember you have a home here. In Hasetsu. In this palace.”

 

Victor’s chest clenched painfully. The realization was sudden-He already missed Yuuri.

 

Yuuri took the silence to keep talking. “I know Drusskia is usually cold; it’ll fit fine over any gloves-see?” He pulled his hand away from Victor’s and held it up to demonstrate. The ring sat snug over the thick fabric of his glove as he waved his fingers around.

 

Victor took the box out of Yuuri's hand. “Thank you, Prince Yuuri. This means a lot.” Yuuri smiled warmly in response and Victor’s chest tightened even more. “Hold on, you said you didn’t know I was here. Why did you bring the ring out with you?"

 

Yuuri gave a half-shrug. “I guess I just thought you must have a lot on your mind too.”

 

Victor swallowed thickly, the urge to cry getting stronger. “Do you want to put hair dye in Yakov’s shampoo before I leave?"

 

“His conditioner,” Yuuri decided after a moment. “It’s going to get predictable if we keep doing it to everyone’s shampoo.”

 

The lights floating above them seemed a little duller that night.


	6. would it have been worth it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **mild yuuri/other**
> 
> * * *

_Yuuri-18, Victor-19_

“Lady Isabella Yang.”

 

Yuuri hummed thoughtfully. “She’s the daughter of Duchess Yang and associated with Aerda royalty. Her family was gifted the title for their advancements in cell magic.”

 

“And?” Phichit hedged.

 

Yuuri shrugged, picking off a kernel shell stuck on his glove. “She might be seeing Prince Leroy, but that’s not really confirmed.”

 

“Still good to know.” Phichit threw a popcorn from where he sat across from Yuuri, and Yuuri slid across the bedspread to catch it in his mouth. Vicchan’s head perked up from his own bed at the movement.

 

“Bad throw,” Yuuri criticized.

 

Phichit grinned as he shuffled through the flashcards. He paused suddenly at a card and his cheeks colored. Yuuri sighed and settled himself against a pillow, knowing what was about to come.

 

“Okay, what about, um, Lord Lee Seung Gil?”

 

“He’s the son of Lord and Lady Lee from the Daegu District. He dresses like a parrot sometimes.”

 

Phichit made an indignant sound at that. “That was one time, and he looked good. Also, someone has to make up for the lack of color in here.” He swooped his arm around Yuuri’s room to gesture at the abundance of darkness.

 

Yuuri smiled, unoffended by the jibe. “Well, I’m sorry, this is the fifth time you’ve asked me about him. I’m running out of things to say.”

 

“He’s so mysterious,” Phichit said, his eyes dreamy. “It must be fate that his card keeps popping up so much.”

 

“Sure, fate,” Yuuri said, a little more skeptical. “Have you talked to him?”

 

“I don’t even have his number. He showed up to my birthday banquet but that doesn’t mean anything, you know?”

 

Yuuri did know. “Why don’t you just go to Daegu? I’m sure he’d be surprised by it.”

 

Judging by the horrified twist on Phichit’s face, that wasn’t the right thing to say. “Yeah, surprised is one word for it. You're saying I should just stumble up to their estate?”

 

“I would hope you’d have more class than to stumble.” At Phichit’s groan, he added, “If you post about it online, which I know you'll do, they’d send you an invite.”

 

“Only to be polite,” Phichit said. “And what would I even do then?”

 

“Talk about your feelings over iced tea,” Yuuri joked.

 

Phichit stared at him silently, all signs of lightheartedness fading from his face. “Talk about your feelings, hm?” He repeated. “Maybe you should take your own advice.”

 

“Kouta,” Yuuri said, scraping the name out of his mouth, “and I are fine.”

 

Phichit quirked an eyebrow. “I wasn’t talking about Kouta.”

 

It didn’t take Yuuri long to realize who Phichit was referring to, and those conversations didn't usually end well. Yuuri had come to find that these were things Phichit was not often sensitive about.

 

Phichit shoved the flashcards aside and made for a languid stretch across the bed so head ended up on Yuuri’s lap. “Speaking of which, I have a question for you, Yuuri, and it’s nothing bad, but I would like an honest answer.”

 

“Ask away,” Yuuri said cautiously, looking down at him.

 

“Tell me why you have seven posters of Victor Nikiforov and none of me. I thought we were friends too.”

 

Yuuri gave a surprised laugh. “You just qualified for the senior competitions, I’ll order your posters when they come out.” As an afterthought, he added, “You can autograph them.”

 

“Why don’t you join a competition season?” This wasn’t the first time Phichit had asked this. “Maybe then you’d see Victor more and I wouldn’t have to watch you get angsty over him.”

 

“I don’t get angsty,” Yuuri muttered sullenly before saying louder, “and for the hundredth time, I can’t do that, how awful would it look for Hasetsu if I lost?”

 

“Not awful at all,” Phichit contradicted, “considering even qualifying means you’re one of the best swordsmen there is. And you know you'd easily qualify, your swordsmanship is something else, Yuuri.”

 

He thought Phichit might be laying it on little thick. “Even if I was that good, it’s just as much about showmanship, and I have none of that.”

 

Phichit opened his mouth to argue but Yuuri was already gently pushing him off. “If you’re aren’t going to quiz me anymore, I think I’ll take Vicchan for a walk.”

 

Phichit hopped up, always energetic. “I’ll come with you, we need to make a plan for me and Seung Gil.”

 

* * *

 

It was a steady flow of incoherent whispers. Most of them regarding Yuuri’s insecurities-his worries about training, studies, the future, it could be anything. At this point, he had developed an “okay, cool, moving on” type of attitude about the whole thing but tonight Victor’s name was popping up too many times. And as expected, it was always followed by unpleasant words.

 

“Why is it always Victor?” Yuuri never planned to talk, but he had long ago discovered that willpower was something he didn’t carry in great amounts in these situations. “I care about other people too.”

 

“Oh, dear prince.” A skeletal finger pressed against his cheek and ice sank through. “I cannot wait till you realize why.”

 

Yuuri looked at them then; the dichotomy of being so used to them and at the same time be terrified was jarring.  He thought they might elaborate, or go back to the whispers, but instead, the shadowy figure started emanating a buzzing sound.

 

Yuuri blinked, and they were gone. As usual, he told himself it was a dream, a nightmare, even as he touched his face to make sure his cheek hadn’t frosted over from a phantom touch. The buzzing, on the other hand, was still going on. Yuuri splayed his hands out on his bed until his fingers came into contact with his phone.

 

It was Victor, calling him. Yuuri’s gut twisted, and a part of his chest did a _thing_ that could definitely raise health concerns.

 

“Hello?” Yuuri said, after setting his phone on speaker and dropping it on the pillow next to him. He hoped he didn’t sound too excited.

 

Apparently, he did the exact opposite because Victor asked, “Were you sleeping? You sound tired.” His voice was weird, but Victor’s phone could never stay on a consistent line of magic, so Yuuri dismissed it as poor signal.

 

“Well, it is three am.”

 

Victor cursed inaudibly. “Sorry, I forgot. I just wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

 

“I’m okay,” Yuuri said, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“I don’t know, I had a-it was probably nothing.” There was a crackle as the signal dropped in and out. “Happy late birthday.”

 

“Thanks.” Yuuri frowned, bringing his phone closer. “Happy early birthday. You should treat yourself to a new phone.”

 

“But Yuuri,” Victor whined, “this still works fine, and it’s pretty. I’ll get a new one when I can’t message you on this anymore.”

 

Yuuri shook his head in exasperation, though he knew Victor couldn’t see it. “Whatever, I can’t believe you actually forgot the time difference.”

 

There was static and then, “Yeah, long day I guess.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes narrowed in concentration, his voice _really_ sounded weird and Yuuri didn’t think it was just the bad signal. “Victor,” he said, alarm rising, “are you hurt?”

 

“No?” The hesitancy in Victor’s voice did nothing to stop Yuuri’s slowly fraying nerves.

 

“You’ve been in Drusskia for years now. You know I’m six hours ahead of you.”

 

More static. “I’m on a ship right now, not Drusskia.”

 

It wasn’t competition season, and if Victor was traveling for fun-which Yuuri didn’t want to think about because it meant Victor had the time to come to Hasetsu and he chose not to-he would have mentioned it. Yuuri grabbed his phone. He didn’t realize his fingers had started trembling until it slipped out of his hands and landed on his face. He ignored the dull sting and pulled up the call details.

 

“Prince Yuuri?” Victor’s voice crackled through the silence.

 

Yuuri barely paid attention. The encrypted line for the coordinates changed at a dizzying speed as Victor’s phone jumped between flickering points of magic, but they were all around the same region. “Victor,” Yuuri said hoarsely, “why are you so close to Ravdan?”

 

Static.

 

“Wow,” Victor breathed, “did you only look at the coordinates and know? That’s so cool!”

 

Yuuri was sure Victor was being genuine with the compliment, but he stayed on track. “Why are you so close to Ravdan?”

 

There was an excruciatingly long pause. “It’s a mission,” he finally said. “It was just some spy stuff. I didn’t even step foot on that hellscape.”

 

That didn’t bring much relief. “Just spy stuff? I can tell by your voice that you’re hurt!”

 

“Only a scratch,” Victor reassured too quickly.

 

“That’s what people in movies always say when they’re lying about bleeding out and dying,” Yuuri said with a touch of derision.

 

A disjointed sound came through which Yuuri assumed was Victor laughing. “I promise I’m not bleeding out. I’m not even going to get a scar from this.”

 

Yuuri tried to switch to a video call but was met with a taunting “TOO MUCH DISTURBANCE” error message. “You don’t sound right, like you’re in pain,” he said, “and don’t say it’s just the signal.”

 

Victor laughed again, and this time it was clearer. “I had pain killers before calling you, I’ll be fine.”

 

“Oh okay, well, that’s good…I suppose.” It helped calm him a little but he wished he could see Victor, to make sure Victor was okay with his own eyes. When was the last time he had wanted to see him so badly? Probably earlier in the day. Or maybe the second Victor had called. _Every day._

 

“I’ll knock out once they kick in,” Victor said. “I’ll-I should let you get some sleep too. Sorry for calling like this.”

 

“Wait!” Yuuri exclaimed, and his phone fell on his face again. He grimaced and scrambled to move it off. The chances of Victor calling him again anytime soon were abysmal at best, and Yuuri wasn’t going to annoy him by calling him later. But he didn’t want the conversation to end. “Talk to me until you fall asleep.”

 

“Okay,” Victor said after a moment. “I finally met Prince Plisetsky.”

 

“Really?” Yuuri pulled one of his blankets higher up and tried to settle in. Victor was starting to sound better now. He would be fine. _Fine._

 

“I bumped into him, actually,” Victor said. “It was like encountering a wild animal. We weren’t that annoying when we were kids, right?”

 

“I don’t think we were, but I might be biased,” Yuuri mused. “I’m sure everyone who quit because of us would have something different to say.”

 

“But we were never mean,” Victor insisted, “he called me an old man.”

 

Yuuri laughed at that. “He doesn’t know any better. He probably saw your hair, and well, the color—”

 

“If you call my hair gray…” Victor trailed off threateningly.

 

“It’s platinum, of course,” Yuuri teased. “Did you know Prince Plisetsky’s first name is Yuri?”

 

“Are you serious?” Victor asked indignantly. “I’m sorry you share a name with that brat.”

 

“Do you want to hear a funny story?”

 

“Is it going to be about one of your old bodyguards?”

 

Yuuri’s lips twitched up, even as he grumbled, “No, it’s not. You just want more material to tease me with.”

 

“Ok, ok, sorry.” Victor didn’t sound sorry. “Tell me the funny story.”

 

Yuuri’s thumb rubbed at the sleek corner of his cellphone as he reminisced. “I don’t remember this too well, but we were actually there for Prince Plisetsky’s first birthday.  Apparently, while we were in his nursery Mari had it with our names and was like ‘let’s just call him Yurio.’ There was no way he could have understood that but he just shot up bawling.”

 

“Well then, let me tell you nothing about him has changed,” Victor said, and Yuuri could imagine him smiling.

 

He opened his mouth to say something else, anything else, maybe say _“come back here”_ when he yawned instead. He tried to muffle it with his hand but Victor managed to hear him anyway.

 

“Are you sleepy?” he asked.

 

“No,” Yuuri denied immediately. “What about you? I thought you said you were going to knock out.”

 

“I actually just feel like I’m sitting on a cloud. Not what I expected but I can’t complain.”

 

This wasn’t hard to believe, Victor sounded a little too unconcerned considering how close he was to Ravdan.  Again, Yuuri wanted to say it, wanted to ask Victor when he might return-but he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t pressure him, couldn’t bother him with that. “That’s good,” he mumbled.

 

Victor sighed, or that could have been static again. “I could go out on the deck if you want to hear the ocean. It sounds nice.”

 

It probably wouldn’t sound nice at all, thanks to the awful reception. Yuuri could play ocean sounds on his phone, or better yet just ask his room to make ocean sounds. He should let Victor go, let him rest, and some cold part of Yuuri’s mind whispered, _stop bothering him._

Another part of him, which now sounded suspiciously like Victor-but would occasionally sound like Phichit, Minako, maybe Mari or his parents-firmly tried to stamp him with, _you’re not a bother._ For once, he listened.

 

“I’d like that,” Yuuri said.

 

And Yuuri was right, it was no symphony, the static mixing in with the waves grated against his ears, but he found his eyelids drooping anyways.

 

* * *

 

 

A hand pressed against his lower back, rubbing small circles against it. “You need to arch your back more,” Kouta said.

 

Yuuri did no such thing, and when he released the arrow it shot forward, stabbing into the tiny black circle on the center of the target. He glanced at the other man through the corner of his eyes before focusing back onto the target, watching as the arrow slowly sunk deeper into the circle.

 

“I really don’t think you’re in the position to be giving me advice. I’m better at this than you.” Yuuri spoke lightheartedly, but he was getting tired of the arrogance. They were practically the same age.

 

“I missed you too,” Kouta taunted before leaning forward.

 

Yuuri had a second to put a lid on the power coiling around in his head before Kouta pecked his ear. It was like second nature now, closing it off where he had the control to do so.

 

“You were here last week,” Yuuri reminded.

 

Before Kouta could respond, there was a suction-like sound and Yuuri’s eyes snapped back to the target. The arrow had completely disappeared into the circle by now. There was a moment, and then the arrow sprang back out, cutting through the air with a high keen, straight towards them. He vaguely heard Kouta yelp and dart back.

 

He reached out a relaxed hand, gauging the arrow’s speed as he did so, swiveled to the side and grabbed it by its shaft. Tangible sparks of magic sizzled around the arrow and his hand, hissing against the protective fabric of his glove.

 

Once the magic settled, Kouta stepped close to him again and grabbed his hand, untangling his fingers from the arrow. “That must have hurt,” he simpered, “how about a hand massage?” He tugged at the glove.

 

Yuuri gave a tight smile and took an unassuming, but hurried step back, pulling his hand away as he did so. “I need to practice some more.”

 

He scowled. “Why are you like that with your—”

 

“We can have dinner together,” Yuuri said with a tone of finality.

 

The uncomfortable prickling on the back of his neck did not disappear until the other man tore his gaze away from Yuuri.

 

He told Phichit about the incident a few days later.

 

“You need to break up with him,” Phichit said hotly, brandishing the dagger.

 

Yuuri took a step away from the offending weapon. “I don’t know how to. I’m scared of confrontation.”

 

“Doesn’t have to be a confrontation.” The blade came down on the shield attached to Yuuri’s blocking arm in a sharp slice. “Just like-have a chat with him.”

 

“We don’t talk much, if you know what I mean.” Yuuri took another step back and the shield intuitively slid inside its compartments. “The force needs to come from your core too. You’ll hurt yourself doing that.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Phichit said, rolling his wrist. “I don’t know, just try dropping hints? We’ll figure something out but it’ll be fine, you’re good at that diplomacy stuff.”

 

Yuuri found out a month later that he was, in fact, not good at that diplomacy stuff.

 

Kouta pulled away from him with a smirk and Yuuri instinctively smiled back, despite getting gradually closer to freaking out. He didn’t know how to go about ending this. There was nothing wrong with Kouta, per se, he was nice, attractive, and the physical aspects of their relationship were great while Yuuri could keep his wits about.

 

But. It was getting complicated. It was getting harder to maintain the reflexes to block _it_ off whenever he was surprised with a touch. To keep it in place, under control, _away_.

 

“I was thinking,” Kouta interrupted his thoughts. “I have a request for you.”

 

“Okay?” Yuuri prompted, only half-listening. The other half of him was trying to build some type of foolproof “it’s me, not you”-type speech.

 

“It’s quite odd to ask, after everything else we’ve done, but I’d like to hold your hand.”

 

Yuuri’s attention snapped back into place. “You do hold my hand. We do that a lot.”

 

He gave Yuuri a patronizing smile, and that, if anything, reminded Yuuri why all other problems aside, his feelings for this person did not last. “I meant without your gloves, Prince Yuuri.”

 

And maybe it was his smile that ticked Yuuri off, maybe that’s why he did it. Realistically, it was because he didn’t know how to amicably cut off a relationship with someone he might have to work with. But that smile helped.

 

Yuuri tugged a glove off and grabbed Kouta’s hand. There was an onslaught of unrecognizable thoughts, but Yuuri dodged around them-he wasn’t here to listen, see, or take. He was here to push. He pushed at the doubts- _Don’t you think there is too much pressure, dating the crown prince? Especially if you have to go public with it?_ He pushed at the stray thoughts- _Your family is in their favor, there technically isn’t much benefit in being with him, right? Right?_ And he pushed other thoughts, the sensual ones, the _heady_ ones, the fond ones, far back, until they were insignificantly small.

 

It must have lasted a second. Three at most.

Kouta pulled his hand away.  The smile he gave Yuuri now was unfamiliar, questioning. His gaze faltered. “Actually, Prince Yuuri, I…” He scratched his head and looked away shiftily. “I have some documents to pick up.”

 

“Hold on,” Yuuri said with some difficulty, his hand twitching with the throb of a familiar pain. He was going to finish this. “I have been wanting to say this for a while, but would you consider limiting our relationship to a professional one?” At Kouta’s widening eyes, Yuuri feared it hadn’t been enough-but he couldn’t do it again, he couldn’t waste more of it. “I know this must come from nowhere, we were literally just making—”

 

 “Yes,” Kouta cut him off enthusiastically. “I apologize for interrupting but _yes._ And I promise it’s me, not you, Your Highness. You’re so distracting, and duty calls, you know?”

 

Yuuri only gave a strained smile because he didn’t have a verbal response to that.

 

“I’ll just,” Kouta took a few steps back, “go after those documents.”

 

“Of course,” Yuuri dismissed him faintly, leaning against the stone archway. Kouta said something else, but Yuuri let it slip over his head and hoped the nod he gave in response was appropriate.

 

He rubbed the back of his head against the textured stone of the archway, trying to match his breathing to the pattern of bumps and ridges. He couldn’t stop the guilt as it slowly dug its claws in. He shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid, selfish, it wasn’t a bottomless pit and Yuuri knew there was _less._

And just like that, he felt it.

 

The sensation was similar to randomly becoming self-aware of his own heartbeat or breathing. The coils of magic shifting around in his head, surging up and down his arms, and pooling to a rest in his hands. He felt it glide, over and under muscle and tissue, thick and intrusive, and yet malleable and obedient-only while he stayed focused on holding it back.

 

He tried to put his mind on literally anything else-on Phichit who was now walking quickly towards him. Like a good friend he had stayed out of sight, but not out of earshot-in case, as Phichit had claimed, an intervention was necessary.

 

“I can’t believe that went so well,” Phichit said, once he reached Yuuri’s side moments later.  “I’m obviously glad but-what happened to your hand?”

 

Yuuri cursed himself for not putting the glove back on, even though the friction would have probably made the pain worse. A glance down at it, however, sent a trill of confused shock up Yuuri’s spine. There were large, swelling welts rising on his palm. The entire surface of his hand was a painful red. It shouldn’t look so bad, he hadn’t done enough for it to look so bad.

 

“Yuuri?” Phichit prodded. “Should I get Ciao Ciao? Or Duchess Minako?”

 

“No,” Yuuri said, his voice stiff, “Don’t get Celestino, and _not_ Minako.” He could already hear her chastising him for misusing his power on a breakup. “It’s just a sunburn,” he weakly explained.

 

“A sunburn?” Phichit repeated in disbelief. “That looks nothing like a sunburn!”

 

“Really? Where’s your medical degree?” Yuuri shot back, irritated from the pain but also fully aware he sounded ridiculous.

 

Phichit was silent for a moment, his eyes narrow and his mouth set in an aggressive line. Yuuri didn’t back down, and he belatedly wondered where this resolve had been earlier when he was dealing with Kouta.

 

Phichit finally gave in with an aggravated sigh. “Let’s just-let’s go to the infirmary. You can stay outside if you want, I’ll get some ointment and bandages.”

 

Afterward, when were in Yuuri’s room, sitting cozily in front of his window, Phichit tentatively asked, “How does your hand feel?” 

 

“It’s fine. I’m sorry for earlier, that wasn’t nice.”

 

Phichit shrugged. “It looked painful.”

 

In the silence that followed, Yuuri watched waves through the glass, counting them as they crashed onto the shore. Usually, the view through the window was set to a section overlooking the palace gardens, but ever since Victor’s call, Yuuri had it changed to the ocean. It was more calming. Especially now, as Yuuri could match his breathing to the steady rise and fall of the tide.

 

It was easier to count the waves than to think about how the magic had injured his hand.

 

“It’s always going to be like this,” Yuuri finally said. “Anybody I’m with, anybody I love, they’re going to end up having questions, and I won’t be allowed to give them answers.”

 

“Not to invalidate your feelings,” Phichit teased, “But I don’t think you were in love with him-like alright, _maybe_ you were for two weeks when you thought he had nice—”

 

“Okay!” Yuuri interrupted with a fond smile. He really did appreciate Phichit’s attempt to distract him. He appreciated Phichit in general. “Either way it’s fine, it’s ideal. I’ll get into some political marriage, no feelings involved, no questions asked, only things to gain.”

 

Phichit dropped all pretense of joking. “Okay, that’s just not fair. It’s not fair that you have to hide any weakness” -Phichit did air quotes around the word- “or whatever just because you’re going to be a king one day!”

 

He let Phichit’s voice drift over him; a hum of passionate words.

 

Weakness, he had said. If only Phichit knew how this was the total opposite of a weakness. If only he knew just how much Yuuri could do. Would he be scared? _Would Victor?_ There were few things worse than that, of ever even thinking about Victor hating him, being scared of him, not talking to him. Yuuri didn’t know when he would run out of the magic surging right under his skin, maybe in a year if some horrible warlord burst into existence and Yuuri used all of it up to defeat them (a hopeful, childhood fantasy), maybe never. And if it was never, then no matter what Phichit said-and Yuuri had kept a faithful ear on his friend’s tirade-Yuuri would stay trapped by this burden.

 

“And a political marriage?” Phichit was saying now, “You don’t have to do that. What if you do fall in love? Considering how many people are trying to court you, it could happen. What if you fall in love with…”

 

 _Victor,_ Yuuri hoped fervently, _better not be feeling like this. Victor better not be trapped in some box that gets smaller every day._

“I’m glad you’re here,” Yuuri interjected after glancing at Phichit’s face. Because it was true, and because he feared Phichit would pop a vein if he kept ranting.

 

For a moment, Phichit looked like he wanted to go on, but instead, he smiled and pressed his shoulder up against Yuuri’s. “You can thank Ciao Ciao,” he quipped playfully, “I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t teaching me.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri sucked on his spoon, eyeing Mari over the huge tub of ice cream as she mirrored his actions. It made no sense to be eating it, Mari's quarters were always chilly, and her windows were glazed over with February frost. He pulled the spoon out with a quiet pop, and she did the same.

 

“Are you going to tell me why you invited me to eat ice cream with you?” Yuuri asked as he dug the spoon into the tub for another clump of ice cream.

 

“Can’t I treat my brother?” Mari responded. “What do you even have for desert nowadays? Fruit salad?”

 

Yuuri raised his eyebrows and gave a doubtful shrug. “If you’re truly doing this out of the goodness of your heart, then I’m touched.”

 

Mari smiled a smile he did not trust. “On the topic of hearts, you been on any dates with Lord Kouta recently?”

 

“Sorry, who?” Yuuri diverted weakly; the lingering guilt was still there. _Wasting raw magic on a breakup._

 

The smile turned wry. “Okay, forget I asked. It’s a good thing his sister is the one representing their region.”

 

Yuuri hummed noncommittally and tried to focus more on digging out a particularly large piece of chocolate.

 

“What about Victor?” Mari continued. “The two of you still talk, right?”

 

“Of course, whenever we can.” Except, Yuuri wished “whenever we can” meant every day, rather than maybe once a week, or a few times a month. But thinking like that made him yearn, and while Mari wasn’t always the most observant, she would notice if he started brooding in front of ice cream.

 

“That’s nice, good to know some things never change.”

 

Yuuri frowned, having no clue what to make of that. “What do you mean?”

 

Mari’s expression was one of exaggerated pity. “Oh, nothing.”

 

Her tone was leaning towards a path of dangerous teasing, regarding _what_ Yuuri did not know, but he figured it was in his best interest to not press the subject.

 

It was a couple of minutes of quiet eating before Mari spoke again. “Actually, Yuuri, I did have something to say.”

 

“I knew it,” Yuuri said, triumphantly. “What is it?”

 

“Well…” She hedged. “It’s about me stepping down from the throne.”

 

A bucket of cold water splashed down on Yuuri. He glared at the ice cream as if it had caused him all the offense in the world and set his spoon down on a napkin. “I should go work this ice cream off.”

 

“Yuuri, please,” Mari persisted. “I want to talk about this.”

 

He sighed, slouching against the chair. “What is there to say?”

 

“A lot!” Mari exclaimed. “When I first told you, you were a kid and I was barely an adult. I can explain myself better now.”

 

Yuuri picked the spoon up again and started fidgeting with it. “But the facts haven’t changed, have they?” And right away, Yuuri felt awful at how cold and disrespectful that sounded, so he added, “I forgive you. You know that.”

 

“You threw a teapot at me,” Mari reminded.

 

“I was ten. I was going through a lot for a ten-year-old.”

 

An awkward gap, and then Mari asked quietly, almost a whisper, “so no talking about it?”

 

Yuuri’s mouth twitched into a humorless smile. “Maybe if I bring it up in the future, we can talk. Not while it still feels like a wound.”

 

Mari thrust her hand out, palm up and Yuuri glanced at it for a second before looking back at her, unimpressed. “Did you want a high five?”

 

She groaned and pulled her hand back, giving up easily. “You know, touching my hand for a second won’t be a waste, or whatever everyone says. I just need you to know I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

 

“It would be a waste,” Yuuri said gently. “I don’t need to walk all over your brain to know you weren’t trying to hurt me.”

 

Mari’s eyes softened and they both came to a quiet understanding. “There’s a big movie premiere in Wei Han,” she said, fluidly changing the topic. “It’s right after your exams. Want to come?”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Yuuri muttered. He scooped out another dollop of ice cream and considered the amount. "That's not until late in the year."

 

“Well, I already sent the invite back with both our names,” Mari admitted.

 

He rolled his eyes. “Then why would you even bother asking?”

 

“Because I was hoping you’d say yes. Anyways, you have to come, just in case you flunk your exams and think about locking yourself in your room forever.”

 

Yuuri casually turned the spoon over and flicked it, then watched with utter satisfaction as the ice cream landed right between Mari’s eyebrows.


	7. and here i drowned again

_Yuuri- 19, Victor- 20_

 

Victor’s eyelids were heavy as he scrolled through the notifications on his phone. Updates from social media apps, Chris asking if he had woken up yet, Yakov saying something in only capital letters-he ignored all of them, and ended up on one particular conversation, as usual.

 

Their last text conversation had been two weeks ago, just him wishing Yuuri a happy birthday. Yuuri had replied with a picture of several disgustingly thick books marked with notes, along with a slice of cake that somehow managed to make it into the shot. The image was followed by a few crying emojis and then a “thanks!” He hadn’t texted him since then; Yuuri had to be busy with exams and Victor wouldn't risk annoying him.

 

It wasn’t like Victor had an abundance of free time either. After his training ended, after he’d been mailed a shiny badge congratulating him on his new position as a lieutenant of Hasetsu’s Royal Army, Victor had done _stuff_. He took part in secret, covert missions, because that was what army people did, and killing got pretty easy during that phase. Then he switched over to competitions, merely because army people did not do that, and it was thrilling for a short while; it was nice to have people actually know how skillful his swordsmanship was, how attuned he was to the magic that thrummed through his weapons and the air around him.

 

But now it just felt like a routine. Just winning. There was something very obvious missing, and if Victor wasn’t still clinging to the edges of sleep, he’d have an easier time pretending everything was in order.

 

He pushed his phone off the bed and turned his face to the side, jetlagged and sensitive to the sunlight. It was a feeling he was accustomed to from traveling, for competitions and missions, but it was never enjoyable. Wei Han was the foggiest in the morning, but despite this, the sun still managed to be excessively bright. He’d only been to the nation one other time, so Victor wasn’t certain if it was either barely breaking dawn or past noon

 

Either way, it was too early to already be getting miserable about Yuuri. Usually, it was pleasant; thinking about him was natural, easy. Memories of fighting over food, agitating the flowers in the garden, of just about anything they’d done together brought a calm, grounding warmth to his chest.

 

Other times it was nostalgic, dripping into the region of painful. When he thought of conversations that went nowhere, half-truths, their tree glowing red at night.

 

Occasionally, it was annoying. Often, when he dated around, the conversation would inevitably go to his past. And people got weird when they found out he was associated with a prince, let alone that he was friends with one. It wasn’t something he could exactly lie about while wearing the Hasetsu royal family’s signet.

 

But no matter how inconvenient, he couldn't take it off.

 

Because rarer still, it was frightening. Sometimes the ring on his finger would twinge with sharp heat and Victor would seize with fear. After a number of these incidents and Yuuri always sending back a puzzled _“I’m okay???”_ text, Victor just started following news tags for the Hasetsu royal family. If something happened to Yuuri, it would surely get updated there.

 

He wanted to go back. Back to Hasetsu.  He told Yuuri he would come back. 

 

But going back felt like giving up. And he didn’t know-didn’t think about-why _._ Victor didn’t know what fight he was trying to win; he had come out on the top for every other tournament and competition, but here he was lost. Confused.

The door slammed open. Victor didn’t even blink. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

 

“This is my room too,” Chris pointed out. “I get that you’re confident, but you could stand to show up to the morning practices.”

 

Victor made a somewhat human sound. It wasn’t worth arguing any longer, he was the three-times champion of Worlds and the Grand Prix, he didn’t need to show up to the proctored practices before the actual tournament.  If there was someone promising, then he could use the surprise.

 

Chris dropped his sword carelessly with and marched towards the window. Victor watched with dread as, rather than opening it, Chris’s attention was caught by something else. “Victor,” he said, exasperated, “why are there mugs everywhere?”

 

“There are four mugs,” Victor corrected. “And they’re on my desk. So. Not exactly everywhere.”

 

Chris picked one up and sniffed it, scrunching his nose. “What was even in this? Coffee? Alcohol?”

 

Victor buried his face into Makkachin’s fur and the dog let out a sleepy snore. “Maybe both.”

 

Chris shoved the mug away. “You look like you gave a blow job to a lemon,” he said. “You’re in that slump thing of yours again, aren’t you?

 

“Your sex jokes are really starting to lose their shock value,” Victor said, ignoring Chris’s concern. “How was practice? Anybody to watch out for?”

 

Chris sat down on Victor’s bed. “You’d know if you went. And don’t change the topic. I would like to know what I could do to stop the mugs migrating here. The cafeteria workers are probably going to get suspicious. The cute one didn’t wink at me today.”

 

“Sorry, I was too lazy to take them back after practice, and then I just kept forgetting.” Victor sat up and went about trying to pick his phone up with his toes. “And I’m okay.”

 

“I’m okay,” Chris mocked, but not unkindly. He picked up Victor’s phone and handed it to him. “Nothing’s stopping you from going back, you know.”

 

“A fine is,” Victor reminded. He couldn’t leave after joining a competition season without paying a hefty penalty fee. It was a stupid excuse, one that Chris saw right through.

 

“I think you’ve made enough prize money to pay off one fine,” Chris insisted. Then hesitantly, his voice gentle, he added, “It might not be my place to say, but if you feel like you left something behind in Hasetsu, you can go back. You are allowed that.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Victor said stubbornly.

 

Chris’s shoulders hunched up in a stagy shrug and he shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m talking about either, okay? I don’t fuck with the whole attachment thing. Especially not like you and Mr. Royalty.”

 

Victor took the opportunity to tease-and get Chris away from this subject matter. “Oh Chris, no attachment at all? I thought we were friends.”

 

A finger jabbed at his chest. Chris’s eyes were squinted and determined. “We are, and you know what I would do if I missed you? Go see you.”

 

“Hypothetically speaking,” Victor said, both of them knowing the situation wasn’t at all hypothetical, “what if I didn’t ask you to come see me? Like what if I didn’t ask you to come back?”

 

Chris practically smashed himself into Victor’s mattress and made a muffled groan. “It doesn’t have to be that deep. You’ve known him forever, do you seriously think he’s going to say something like ‘no, you’re exiled’?”

 

Victor did not find himself comforted by that.

 

At the stretched silence, Chris sighed and pushed himself off the bed. “Competition is in two hours,” he said, getting up, “for some reason, I feel like you’d forget.”

 

Victor side-eyed him. “Why are you heading out so early?”

 

Chris tousled with his hair in the mirror, bringing forth a windblown look. “I’m trying to hook up with that cook. _Someone_ is making it a little difficult, but I don’t mind obstacles.”

 

Victor scratched his nose with his middle finger. “Get out. I’ll take the mugs down and beg forgiveness.”

 

After Chris left, Victor browsed aimlessly through his phone until he found a two-hour documentary on snails. He tucked it under a pillow for background buzz and snuggled against Makkachin.

 

He ignored Yakov’s incoming calls and instead lulled himself into a melancholic state, twisting his hand up in the air to watch the sunlight hit the sapphire on his index finger.

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Popovich! How will you go about impressing the spectators today?”

 

Victor stared at Georgi through the tinted one-way glass of the window as the man drew himself up to full height. “My heart is full of darkness and betrayal,; I hope the arena can generate magic that reflects this and I can give everyone a truly frightening show!”

 

“I could kill him,” Victor said, turning to Chris. He was only partially joking.

 

Chris smiled ruefully. “He does get the reporters too excited, doesn’t he?”

 

It wasn’t a problem for Chris, who actively enjoyed throwing lascivious smirks that had the reporters swooning and clamoring. He didn’t mind answering questions that had nothing to do with the approaching competition.

 

And Victor could pretend it wasn’t a problem for him either, winking and smiling and giving not-answers as he navigated his way around them. But eventually the questions would turn to something else, and he did mind that.

 

“Mr. Nikiforov, what do you think of your opponent today?”

 

Victor internally winced but kept his smile wide and friendly. “I hope he will provide a challenge for me.” Victor didn’t even know who his opponent was, let alone if they were a “he”.

 

Thankfully, either Victor had gotten the pronoun right, or the reporters just didn’t pay attention. “I wanted to ask about your ring, Mr. Nikiforov,” one of the reporters yelled, pushing against the barricade of uniform-clad soldiers. “It’s the Katsuki family ring! Why do you wear it? What’s your relationship with them?”

 

 _One would think,_ Victor thought wryly as he ignored her, _that after three years of not answering those questions they would give up._

Against all odds, Victor made it into the arena waiting area unscathed. One of the walls was transparent, allowing competitors to see the duels happening on the arena field. Another wall was covered with racks holding different practice weapons-longswords, rapiers, scimitars, even scythes. There were several other competitors here, stretching or going through memorized footwork patterns. Victor recognized some of the faces, but he couldn’t put a name to any of them, so he found Chris and picked up one of the generic practice swords, just to act like he was doing something.

 

“Do you know who I’m supposed to be fighting?” Victor whispered to Chris.

 

“Not me,” he answered unhelpfully as he bent his knee and strained forward.

 

Victor sighed and balanced the sword with the hilt lying flat on his palm. He observed the duel going on with mild interest. Judging by the time, it was probably one of the last ones for the Juniors segment. He turned his palm, watching as the sword started to fall, and then find balance again, trembling precariously on the side of his hand.

 

“Victor!” Georgi exclaimed from behind, his mouth inches from Victor’s ear.

 

Victor bit back a grimace, barely catching the sword as it fell. “Georgi.” He offered a polite smile.

 

“I’m going to the locker room,” Chris announced immediately and picked up Victor’s equipment bag. “I’ll take your bag with me.”

 

“I’ll go with you,” Victor said, hoping Chris would see the desperation in his eyes. “I need to change too.”

 

“Why?” he asked and if Victor didn’t know him any better he might have thought Chris sounded confused. “You’re all geared up.”

 

As he watched Chris’s back disappear into the locker room, Victor thought he understood a fraction of the so-called “betrayal” Georgi never shut up about. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Georgi; they had trained together in Drusskia and had seen each other often during competitions. It was fine when they were exchanging tips and advice, but any other conversation with him usually turned into something Victor didn’t want any part in.

 

“How are you?” Georgi asked, pleasant and toothy.

 

“Fine,” Victor said blandly, placing the sword back onto the rack. “You?”

 

To Victor’s mild horror, but also zero surprise, Georgi proceeded to launch into the story of his most recent relationship failure. Victor tuned him out with practiced ease and focused on the fight outside. The terrain had morphed into something more mountainous. One of the fighters slid dangerously down a slope, fire licking at their feet and barely dodged an errant flash of lightning before clashing with their opponent. He winced at what was likely a painful collision, even with protective gear, and turned his gaze to the audience.

 

They sat in a large semi-circle of high-rise bleachers with protective glass, bearing colorful posters and gifts. One of the high-rises stood separate from the rest. It was in the center, taller, slender, glamorously decorated in gold and silver drapes. Reserved for the important people: other celebrities, nobility, _royalty._

It was that signature shade of blue, the shine of silver, that gave it away.

 

“Is that…?” Victor breathed and took a step forward, cutting across Georgi’s rant. A nervous, excited buzz tingled through him. The figure standing in there, distorted by the glass and light, couldn’t possibly be Yuuri. Victor couldn’t hope for that.

 

“What are you looking at? The center high-rise?” Georgi asked, and then a moment later, “Oh. I think that’s Hasetsu royalty.”

 

“How can you tell?” Victor spared Georgi a glance. “It’s far.”

 

“Well, that’s obviously the princess-she does that thing with her hair. It’s iconic, really.” -Victor’s lips quirked up- “That might be the crown prince next to her, then.” The light shifted then, and then there was no doubt. “Huh, that’s a surprise. He hasn’t been in the news for a while.”

 

Georgi wouldn’t have known he had been busy with his studies- “Prince Stuff,” Yuuri had always jokingly called it.

 

“You are friends with the Hasetsu prince, aren’t you?” Georgi asked, a weird civility in his voice.

 

“I am,” Victor said, trying to discern more of Yuuri’s face. He looked taller. _Of course_ he was taller.

 

“Didn’t you save his life or something? Way back?”

 

“Something like that.” Victor wondered if Yuuri knew he was here. The urge to talk to him, to just have Yuuri _look_ at him, attacked him with a vengeance.  That near tangible feeling of missing him was suddenly stronger than ever.

 

“I wonder if that ring—”

 

“None of your business.” Victor finally turned back to Georgi. “I think the senior matches are starting.” Victor gave Georgi what he hoped was a non-antagonistic pat on the shoulder, but Georgi stumbled from the force of it anyway.

 

 “Oh, come on,” Georgi complained, following after Victor as he walked towards the door to the arena field. “We’ve known each other for years. I won’t reveal the scandalous secret behind you having a royal family’s ring. Did you steal it?”

 

“There’s no scandalous secret,” Victor said firmly as he handed his ID to the clerk holding onto their weapons. “And I don’t think I’d be walking around free if I stole something from a royal family.”

 

The clerk scanned his ID before handing it back and ducked behind a screen to fetch his sword. Victor understood the necessity for pre-checking weapons for any illicit magical enhancements, but he didn’t enjoy his being in unfamiliar hands. “Nice sword,” the clerk said, coming back with it. “It’s very long and sturdy.”

 

“That’s good,” Victor replied, sheathing the weapon, “my captain would probably sue if it broke.”

 

“That was so tactless, Victor,” Georgi caught up with him a moment later. “I think he was flirting with you.”

 

The clerk could have speared Victor and Georgi would still think it was flirting, but either way, Victor didn’t care. Nerves were prickling under his skin and he wanted to ricochet off the walls because Yuuri was _here_. Existing. No longer mountains and oceans away. He didn’t know what he would do in the field-obviously fight and probably win, but Yuuri would be watching him. He wanted to take a step forward, to remind them both that _hey, we got up to some really stupid shit when we were kids, right? We’re best friends, right?_

Realistically, he knew he wouldn’t be able to convey that. He’d fight, he’d win, he’d return to Drusskia and keep putting off going back to Hasetsu. Yuuri would probably text him a “Congrats!!” and link a couple of articles about his win. He would certainly not ask Victor to come back.

 

And because of that, Victor went back it would feel like giving up. Giving up because he had tried to do what the king said and grow without any “outside influences” ( _Yuuri,_ the king could have just said _Yuuri_ ) but it was so impossibly _hard._ He had grandly failed at the task, and it wasn’t like he had tried to succeed anyway. Returning to Hasetsu would feel like giving up because he had been waiting for Yuuri to hold out his hand, to pull him across the ocean separating them.

 

But Yuuri had never been one for much handholding, and maybe there were other signs and Victor had missed them, maybe he just couldn’t see them. Maybe.

 

He could excuse these thoughts when he was half-awake in bed with no filter, but now-when he could be up for a duel at any moment? He hadn’t seen Yuuri for five years, so naturally catching a glimpse of his barely visible face now would make him come to all these conclusions.

 

A mechanical voice blared overhead and Victor realized that having an epiphany right before a duel wasn’t the best thing to happen to him.

 

* * *

 

It was obvious Yuuri hadn’t known Victor would be competing here.

 

But He couldn’t even feel satisfied at the way Yuuri’s jaw dropped when their eyes met because he was too overwhelmed with fondness. Which was stupid; they were just looking at each other, it wasn’t even like they were talking. But _oh,_ he wanted to talk. Was his crown still lopsided?

 

A sharp ring sliced through the arena and Victor’s eyes flicked down to his opponent, someone wearing a mask littered with decorative pieces. They pointed a longsword at him; the blade had a pulsing, orange glow.

 

Shockingly enough, it wasn’t hard to focus on the duel. Sword fighting always just came to Victor, and he remembered his challenge to Yuuri; he wasn’t going to falter now with him right there. It was muscle memory-he navigated the sudden terrain shifts, soldiered through the simulated weather disasters. Parrying. His own shadow turned around and grabbed at him. Dodging. A sharp jab, a fast block. He felt the sharp, warning vibration a second before he twisted out of the way of a bellowing spurt of fire that erupted from the ground. The heat was a mere press against the side of his face, the flames freezing into ice as his sabre carved through it. He could hear the spectators roar in admiration, amazement.

 

His opponent wasn’t so lucky; they lunged forward at the same time a spurt of charged air spat up. Victor watched through squinted eyes and they went soaring comically through the air. Victor still didn’t know who they were.

 

Victor waited for a moment, gauging the distance, and then flung his sword at the falling figure. At this point, it was his signature move and even though there was a shameful lack of technicality to it, the spectators loved it and it gave him a crushing number of public votes. He watched as the sword point dug into the solid diamond of magic embedded in his opponent’s armor mesh. Watched it shatter. Watched as an enormous bubble grew out of the ground to cushion his fall.

 

An easy, fast win. There was the sound of releasing air as the glass lifted and gifts came soaring down to him. Victor’s eyes drew back to Yuuri who was leaning over the balcony, his mouth moving, saying something to him, but Victor couldn’t hear over the cheers of the audience. Victor picked up a bouquet close to him and stared deliberately at Yuuri before throwing it to him. Yuuri’s eyes flashed briefly to the incoming flowers before focusing back on Victor, even as his hand reached out and easily snatched the bouquet when it was close enough. The audience grew even louder.

 

Victor wondered if Yuuri could see everything Victor wanted to say in his eyes. Probably not, Victor could only just make out Yuuri’s face, and Yuuri wasn’t his wearing his glasses.

 

He turned back one time as he was walking towards the exit, after shaking hands with the opponent and bowing to the audience. Yuuri and Princess Mari were facing each other. He didn’t think it was ever appropriate to describe royalty as shit-eating, but even from the distance, everything about Princess Mari had screamed pure shit-eating. Meanwhile, Yuuri’s hands had been darting furiously through the air.

 

The reporters were rowdy, but Victor was used to that. The congratulations and applause inside the locker rooms were muted and scattered, but Victor was used to that too.

 

“I can’t believe you threw a bouquet at the prince,” Georgi said, hushed.

 

“Well they are friends,” Chris said from Victor’s other side. It wasn’t uncommon for the three of them to stay after to watch each other’s matches whenever they were slotted into the same location.

 

“I didn’t know you two were friends enough that you could go tossing flowers at him. That was forward,” Georgi said.

 

Victor shrugged, it had felt like the right thing to do in the heat of the moment. It still felt right. All he wanted now was to get his phone and contact Yuuri in some way. He pressed his fingers onto the locker impatiently, waiting for the metal to recognize him.

 

“But a prince,” Georgi emphasized, “you really lucked out, huh?”

 

Victor paused in the midst of grabbing his phone and some clothes and glanced at Georgi, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well,” Georgi started tentatively, and that made Victor suspicious. “I don’t really know how military stuff works in Hasetsu but I always thought you got to become lieutenant too early.”

 

There was no reason for him to remind Georgi that their training regimens had been vastly different in terms of difficulty. Victor didn’t need to get asked questions about that too. “I don’t get any benefits if that’s what you’re implying.”

 

“I’m just saying. I don’t keep up with politics, but Hasetsu’s powerful. If it’s apparently totally acceptable for you to throw a bouquet at that Prince Katsuki without getting hounded by security-and he seemed totally okay with it too-you’ll probably get all the easy missions when you go back.”

 

Victor sighed. “You know I’ve already been on missions. I can’t tell you what they were about but they certainly weren’t easy.”

 

In the silence that followed he pulled up Yuuri’s contact on his phone and started tapping out, ‘CAN WE MEET!!’

 

However, Georgi wasn’t done yet and his next words sent a jagged line of annoyance through Victor. “My parents are kinda scared of him. Apparently, when he was a kid, he got dragged around to a bunch of important meetings, and Hasetsu kept just magically getting what it wanted? I don’t know, sounds corrupt.”

 

“He was a kid,” Chris said logically. “If anything, he was probably there for cute points. Kids are cute.”

 

“Sure, okay.” Georgi gave Victor a significant look. “I’m just saying, royalty are a different sort. We’re nothing to him. You’re his friend until you stop being interesting.”

 

Victor tapped his index finger to his chin and Georgi’s gaze lowered to the ring. “Thank you for the concern.” He tilted his head, his mouth stretched into an innocent smile. “But don’t you think all this talk might be stemming from the lack of trust in your past relationships?”

 

His eyes bulged and Victor immediately wished he had stayed quiet. He didn’t want to sign himself up for a week of Georgi mumbling ominously about curses. Chris interjected, “Who are you texting? The contact name is just a bunch of hearts and the sunglasses emoji?” He forced out a noisy laugh.

 

Georgi gasped, easily distracted. “Oh? It must be a secret lover!”

 

Victor smiled at Chris, grateful but also a little amused. He wondered how they would react if he told them who it actually was. “It’s just a—”

 

“Victor?” It was soft, but at the same time, it rang clear. Deeper, but he would recognize that voice anywhere. A strong tenor, but with that characteristic gentleness.

 

He didn’t think. Victor tugged his cowl-necked sweatshirt over his head while making a blind leap over the bench between the two rows of lockers, rounded the corner and—

 

Yuuri.  

 

He was standing there, pink cheeks and lopsided crown. His eyes widened as they landed on Victor and a smile lit up his face and then _oh-_ it was that stupid, riveting, perfect feeling again. An explosion, the universe realigning itself. It had been so long; that must be why it felt so intense. If his feet weren’t so firmly planted on the ground, Victor would have thought he was floating.

 

He took a step forward, to hug Yuuri, fix his annoying crown, but then Yuuri raised his hand and Victor knew it was probably for just a handshake, but he covered the remaining distance between them and instead kneeled gracefully before Yuuri, grasped his hand, and pressed a kiss to it. “Prince Yuuri.”

 

“You’re so dramatic,” Yuuri hissed predictably, and Victor grinned into the fabric of his glove. “I can’t believe you’re still doing that.”

 

He pulled his hand out of Victor’s grasp and wrapped it around his wrist, tugging gently. Victor allowed himself to be pulled up with a playful pout. “What do you mean ‘still’? I haven’t done that in like ten years.”

 

Yuuri was smiling, his face bright with amusement, but then it dimmed as his eyes darted to the side and he took a step back. Victor followed his gaze and saw men standing in various stages of undress, wide-eyed and frozen. Some looked to be in the middle of bowing, others were just downright confused.  

 

Victor turned back to Yuuri, whose was biting his lower lip, his brows pulled together into a frown. A memory popped into his head. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Victor said, something sly curving his mouth. He wondered if Yuuri still remembered. “I’m kind of worshiped around here, so you’ll have to excuse them. Would you like to go outside before they start asking me for autographs?”

 

Yuuri’s eyes widened and he answered Victor with a knowing, secret smile. “Thank you for today,” Yuuri said, addressing the men, “Every duel was amazing.” The short compliment had the slack-jawed men proceed to stumble into bows.  

 

They left quickly amidst that toppling mess and stood outside, just staring at each other, grinning. “Hi,” they both said after a moment, at the same time, and burst into laughter. Victor was giddy, and it felt like a dream, too surreal to be happening. There were a bunch of men inside the locker room, floundering about because they just saw a prince, and here Victor stood in front of said prince, _his best friend._

 

“How did you know I was in there?” Victor asked as they walked aimlessly down the hallway outside of the lockers. There were a million and one questions circling through Victor’s mind, but that one seemed like a logical place to start.

 

Yuuri blushed. “I asked a guard where the competitors went after their matches, and then I kind of ran here. You weren’t outside or the locker rooms, so I thought I’d check inside.”

 

“Ran?” Victor quirked an eyebrow and grinned. “Were you that excited to see me?”

 

“No,” Yuuri said too quickly, and then amended. “Well, yes, I’m excited. But I ran because there were reporters everywhere.” Yuuri gave a polite smile to some tittering employees who were discretely trying to take pictures. “Can we go somewhere private?” Yuuri asked, peeking around a door. “The paparazzi here are something else.” 

 

Victor pointed a thumb behind his back. “Yeah. We could go upstairs, there’s nothing but boxes there.” Once they started walking again, Victor asked, “Are you going to be here long? I could show you…” And he trailed off because he didn’t have anything to show Yuuri. He never stayed long enough to see the places that were illustrated on postcards.

 

“We’re leaving today,” Yuuri said regretfully. “Mari’s here for a movie premiere or something, but she wanted to come to the competition too. If I knew you were scheduled for this arena I would have stayed longer.”

 

The exhilarating happiness was punched out of him. “So, you’re just leaving.” It was a stupid thing to say, given that Yuuri just explained his departure plans.

 

“Yes,” Yuuri confirmed regardless.

 

“So that’s it then?” At Yuuri’s confused expression Victor elaborated, even though his mind was telling him to shut up, to just enjoy the hour or however long he had with Yuuri. “We’ll talk for a bit, and then you’ll leave.”

 

Yuuri frowned. “Yes? I mean, we can grab a meal if you want but like I said, the paparazzi is—”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Victor pressed his palms into his eyes, knowing a conversation like this was more trouble than it was worth, especially after so long. “Were you ever planning to come see me? And not like this, not like an accident.”

 

“You travel a lot,” Yuuri pointed out, bewildered. “And I just finished my exams, I couldn’t have gone and visited you whenever before that.”

 

“Really?” Victor accused. “You were studying every second?”

 

“Why didn’t you visit?” Yuuri shot back, his eyes narrowing. “It would make more sense, considering I wasn’t moving around much.”

 

“You didn’t ask me to,” Victor said, which on its own sounded hypocritical because then Yuuri said-

 

“I don’t remember you asking me either?”

 

Victor wanted to rewind to five minutes ago when the excitement was still at the forefront, but they weren’t kids anymore, and he finally had the words to talk about this. Yuuri was his best friend _,_ he needed to try. “I didn’t mean to visit. I meant in general. I wanted you to ask me to come back. Which is stupid, I guess, since you seemed fine with me leaving.”

 

“How was I supposed to know? I can’t—” Yuuri’s mouth twisted into a dark, humorless smile. “I can’t read your mind.” One of his hands rubbed against the side of his crown as he continued talking, going so fast now his words started knocking into each other. “I wasn’t fine with you leaving, you were such a constant to me, but-but how could I tell you that? I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I said something that made you feel guilty and you just stayed and felt trapped, because I know what that feels like and I don’t want you to ever feel like that.”

 

Victor’s heart lurched up to his throat. “I can’t read your mind either,” he whispered, almost to himself.

 

“And then,” Yuuri went on like Victor hadn’t said anything, “After a while, I started thinking that you just, I don’t know, grew out of our friendship? Maybe you found better things because missions and competitions or whatever are exciting and glorious and I’m just that spoiled prince you hung out—”

 

Victor swallowed his heart back down to where it belonged with hardened resolve. “No, you can’t do that.” A small part of him considered the irony of him telling a _prince_ what he couldn’t do. “The ‘spoiled prince thing’ “-Victor held his fingers up in dramatic air quotes- “was our little joke when we were kids, I’m not going to let you ruin that.”

 

Yuuri gave a reluctant, hoarse laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m making this all about me, aren’t I?”

 

“On the spoiled prince scale, I wouldn’t say you made it _all_ about you,” Victor said, a cautious smile edging on his lips. “Why didn’t we talk about this stuff all those years ago?”

 

Yuuri’s own smile was dry. “I don’t know about you, but I only think about stuff like that at two in the morning.”

 

Yuuri looked burnt out, and Victor imagined he appeared the same. “I missed you, Yuuri,” Victor said, and perhaps it was an awkward time to say it, but Victor didn’t care because Yuuri’s shoulders relaxed and his eyes lost their wariness.

 

“I missed you too,” Yuuri replied, his smile soft. They started walking again, falling into step with each other. The clacking of their shoes was the only sound for a few beats. “I was thinking about when we first met. On the train ride here.”

 

Victor grinned. “You mean when you asked me to carry you—”

 

Yuuri cut across him with a groan. “If we’re gonna talk about embarrassing things I have a whole list for you. Don’t try me.”

 

He remembered the tales Yuuri had regaled him with of him slowly frustrating his bodyguards off into quitting and suddenly he connected some dots he hadn’t noticed before. “Hold on-did you just ask me to carry you back then to annoy me? And get me to quit? _Before_ I started?” Victor couldn’t believe he was figuring this out now. Apparently, today was the day of realizing things.

 

“Um, yeah,” Yuuri said, his cheeks coloring. “I mean, I was expecting some forty-year-old to walk in so I was off my game, but then you still called my bluff. You were shameless.”

 

He had called Yuuri’s bluff because Yuuri had fascinated him. “I called your bluff because I didn’t want you to behead me,” Victor retorted.

 

“That _doesn’t_ happen.”

 

The walk upstairs was filled with idle chatter: Wei Han’s horrible weather, Victor’s duel stats, Yuuri’s exams. Victor couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Yuuri. It was so different, seeing him for real, in the flesh, without the obscuring and unreliable signals of magic from face calls that prevented him from seeing the curve of Yuuri’s eyelashes, the line of his nose, the edge of his jawline—

 

“You keep looking at me,” Yuuri informed him.

 

Victor shrugged, unembarrassed. “You look different. It feels different.” And then, because he felt like that wasn’t sufficient explanation, he added, “you’re tall.”

 

“Your hair is short,” Yuuri pointed out, smiling. “And you’re tall too.”

 

They were upstairs now, and there really wasn’t anything here, just a hallway that winded around the arena walls on one side, and was open on the other. The sunlight had fought through Wei Han’s heady fog and bright patches dappled across the stone floor. When the rays passed over Yuuri, his hair took on a russet tone, his eyes a glint of red. Things were different. They were taller, sharper in a way that ran deeper than just their appearances, and Victor could not recall Yuuri’s eyes ever looking so beautiful in the sun.

 

But not all things were different. “Still taller than you,” Victor said triumphantly.

 

Yuuri didn’t miss a beat. “You’re fired.”

 

Victor smirked. “Too late, your parents already paid me.”

 

They had stopped at a section of the parapet. They both relaxed against it, side by side, their elbows resting on the flat tops of the balustrades, Victor with his face to the bleak sun, Yuuri with his back to it. There was a pause of silence. “What?” Victor asked because Yuuri was frowning.

 

“It’s just that, well, a little bird told me you returned that money.”

 

Victor smiled. “I didn’t know they taught you to speak ‘bird’ in prince school.”

 

“Victor,” Yuuri deadpanned, casting him a sidelong glance.

 

He heaved a sigh. “It just felt weird getting money for something I don’t need to think about doing. So, I returned it.”

 

Yuuri played with the plating on his gloves. “Really? Still? We’re seeing each other again after five years and one of the first things we did was fight.”

 

“What do you mean ‘still’?” Victor glared at him. “And I think that so-called fight was important.” _Please tell me, please keep opening up._

 

“I think so too,” Yuuri agreed slowly, “It kind of just goes back to what we talked about earlier. I thought you returned the money because you didn’t want to be my bodyguard anymore. I thought the whole exploring options thing went too well and now you don’t want to leave competing. Or whatever else you’d rather be doing.”

 

“It didn’t go well. The exploring options thing,” Victor admitted.

 

Yuuri’s eyebrows drew in with concern. “Oh? What’s wrong?”

 

Victor wanted to change the topic, but opening up was a two-way street. “I think I realized that you were the only option that mattered, and then I spent five years trying to convince myself that wasn’t true.”

 

In the silence that followed, Victor wished he could backtrack, wished he had brushed off Yuuri’s worry with some sort of joke instead. Then, his voice low, Yuuri said, “Come back with me.”

 

“What?” Victor nearly yelped, he turned his head to look at Yuuri, but Yuuri was staring straight ahead, his jaw tense. “You mean today?”

 

“Yes, today,” Yuuri confirmed. “In like five hours.”

 

Victor had several arguments to that. Most of his belongings were in Drusskia, Yakov would tear his ear off at the short notice, there was the announcement for the winners-but _this_ was Yuuri reaching his hand out.

 

 “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Victor enjoyed train rides. The experience was liminal, a place between worlds.  The scenery outside the window blurred into a gradient of pink sunset and gray metropolis, broken only when the train released coils of while-gold magic. It twisted between skyscrapers like it was a fish and the sky was its ocean, and Victor relaxed into the gentle sway that came with every turn.

 

They were in a spacious, private booth. There was a chess game laid out between them, untouched in favor of idle, easy conversation. Makkachin was curled up against Yuuri’s side; she had no problem recognizing him and wasted no time in latching on. Victor couldn’t fault her for it.

 

“By the way,” Victor said, “is my room at the palace still there?”

 

Yuuri frowned. “Well, it didn’t disappear.”

 

“You gave it to someone else?” And that shouldn’t surprise him, and certainly not hurt him. After all, it’s been five years.

 

“No, I wouldn’t do that,” Yuuri insisted. “I moved to a different wing, so maybe there are guests staying in your old room, but I kept the rooms in my hall free, so you can have your pick.”

 

And it shouldn’t matter, he certainly shouldn’t feel so pleased _,_ but he was _._ He was so, _so_ pleased that him staying at the palace again was just a given, a tacit agreement.

 

“So that duel was a pretty, easy win.” They had already talked about it, Yuuri had already showered him with praises, but Victor wanted to hear more.

 

Yuuri wasn't fooled. “What makes you think you won?”

 

“You think I didn’t win?” Victor challenged, the corner of his lip twitching up.

 

“Actually, one of the judges was at the movie premiere. You definitely won.” Yuuri’s eyes were gleaming with mirth.

 

Victor’s shoulders bunched up and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table between them. “Oh? They told you?”

 

“No,” Yuuri’s voice quivered with laughter, “I bribed them for your win.”

 

Victor slid back against the cushioned seat with an amused huff. “Really? You did that? _For me_?” he played along, batting his eyelashes.

 

The bit ended with both of them cracking into shameless smiles. He couldn’t stop marveling at how easy it was to fall back to this. Just talking like this. Quiet laughter, bright words.

 

It was like five years hadn’t gone by.

 

“But seriously,” Yuuri said, “I’m sure you won. Defeating your opponent is most of it, and you definitely have the popular and judge’s votes.”

 

Victor knew all of this, but something gentle and comforting settled within him regardless. Then, Yuuri asked, his fingers twisting a chess piece, “would you have wanted to be there? The winners’ ceremony?”

 

“No. I’ve been to several,” Victor reassured. He couldn’t care less-ceremonies didn’t exist in this alternate reality their train booth was in.

 

And suddenly it was like five years _had_ gone by.

 

Because Yuuri was smiling again, and why had he never noticed that Yuuri had dimples? Two small, endearing indents on the corners of his lips that Victor could press his thumbs into.

 

He needed to look somewhere that wasn’t Yuuri’s face. “Your ring.” His eyes had drifted to Yuuri’s hand. “You aren’t wearing it.”

 

Yuuri’s smile shrunk to something more rueful. His free hand disappeared under his collar and tugged out a chain. The ring dangled from it. “When you get older, you realize rings over gloves aren’t the best look.”

 

“You know fingerless gloves are a thing, right?” Victor’s gloves covered his thumbs and a majority of his palms but left the rest of his hands bare. It was better for gripping sword hilts.

 

“Not really my style.” Yuuri dropped the chess piece and reached out to tap the ring on Victor’s index finger. “What about you? Do you wear it often?”

 

Victor wore it always. “Often,” he parroted instead.

 

“During competitions, too?”

 

Victor nodded. “You sent me articles after I win. I thought you saw the pictures.”

 

“Only to make fun of how they won’t stop waxing poetic about you.” Yuuri’s index finger and thumb curved around the sapphire and twisted the ring side to side. “I guess I never looked for it in those pictures. Your face was too distracting.” Immediately after, Yuuri’s hand froze on the gem and his cheeks flamed red.

 

Victor couldn’t tease-he felt his own face heat up. “Distracting?”

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri scoffed through the redness of his cheeks. “How could it not be when your forehead takes up an entire picture?”

 

Well then.

 

“Oh.” Victor mock-glared at him, pulling his hand away. “I’ll leak these conversations to the press one day, everyone’s going to know what a tyrant you are.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri's new room was just as large as his old one, if not more so. But this one was modern, minimalistic. The only similarity was the gigantic window, which shouldn't even be there, because as far as Victor knew the room wasn't against any of the palace’s outer walls. He didn't question it.

 

The wall Yuuri’s bed was pushed up against was white. Engraved into it was a map of the world, and it was pinned with postcards Victor sent from the various places he had traveled to for competitions.

 

One portion of the map was painted in red and surrounded by notes. Ravdan. Victor didn’t focus too hard on that.

 

The other walls-black-had his posters pasted on them. They were mostly close shots, chest and up, with Victor offering commercial smiles to some camera.

 

He rubbed at the filmy surface of one of them. They were the expensive, deluxe copies. “I thought you just wanted to make fun of articles,” he teased, “I didn't know you were an actual fan.”

 

Yuuri had sprawled sideways on his bed, his head lolling off the mattress. “Don't get the wrong idea, I'm just being a supportive friend. Don't you get a share when people buy your merch?”

 

“I do,” Victor conceded. “What can I do to show you my support?”

 

Yuuri frowned, and rubbed his chin like he was actually considering the question. The expression was cute with his face tilting upside down. “Don't commit treason.”

 

Victor snickered while walking over to where Yuuri lay and settled himself on the fluffy rug, against the bedside, almost eye-level with Yuuri. It was odd being back, odd walking past memories. He could see their tree (was it still _their_ tree?) through the window. So many conversations happened underneath that tree. It felt like embracing a ghost.

 

“Are you happy?” Yuuri cut through his thoughts.  The question was abrupt, softened only by his low voice.

 

Victor hesitated. “To be back? Or in general?”

 

He felt the mattress shift against his back. “Both.”

 

He turned his face and started at how close Yuuri was, but couldn’t bring himself to move back. The "yes" was on the tip of his tongue, because that was probably the answer Yuuri wanted. _But opening up._ “Do you ever think a word can’t carry everything you feel with it? I am happy-at this moment, sitting next to you, I’m so happy. But-happy is  _weak._ Happy isn’t large enough to hold on to everything I feel.”

 

It was raining, and _happy_ was the tiny, flimsy umbrella trying to gather Victor under it, but he just kept slipping out-and he hated the rain.

 

Then Yuuri said something Victor didn’t think he liked— “I can understand that.”

 


	8. those human voices haven't called us yet

Victor was sprawled across his bed, propped up by a number of fluffy pillows against the headboard. His eyes ran over the words on the page as Yuuri recited them.

 

“How was that?” Yuuri asked, coming to a pause.

 

Victor set the papers aside. “It was good, but maybe don’t pace so much.”

 

Yuuri didn’t heed the advice. If anything, his pacing got faster. “There’s going to be so many people. And reporters. And then tomorrow a bunch of critcs and professional people going to take my speech apart word for word and figure out what’s wrong with it. I don’t know how you do it.”

 

Victor frowned. He’d done a press conference and a number of interviews over the last few weeks to explain away him stepping out of competitive dueling. Yakov handled most of it. “I quit a sport that athletes don’t survive long in anyway. I think that’s a bit different from talking in front of thousands of people about," he made an encompassing gesture at Yuuri, "these important things.”

 

Yuuri's mouth curved into a smile momentarily before he collapsed into an armchair and rubbed a hand over his hair. “I’m going to die out there.”

 

Victor smiled cheerfully. “I’ll be making sure you don’t.”

 

“Right.” Yuuri leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “How is that going? Your first official task as a bodyguard?

 

Yuuri spoke lightly, but they both knew Victor wasn't just a bodyguard. He was the crown prince's protector. He wasn't sure what he'd expected upon coming back, but it certainly wasn't being thrown headfirst into the job. The thorough knowledge he was given on Yuuri's upcoming projects, his unquestioned access to confidential information—it was almost scary. There were no tutorials, no "easing into it", but that didn't matter. The years of arduous training, all the covert missions, the tactics he picked up from competing, they had all shaped him for this position.

 

It suddenly came to him, the reason why the king had asked Victor to continue his training in Drusskia, to try out other things. It wasn't only to see if being Yuuri's bodyguard was a responsibility he'd truly want in the future, but also to make sure he'd have every skill necessary to be perfect for the job.

 

“It’s a lot of bossing people around,” He finally admitted—a total understatement. Victor had spent most of the week re-familiarizing himself with the palace. He had meetings on meetings to build up security plans for Yuuri's future events. For this one in particular—as it was happening around the palace—everything was relatively simple; after studying all the details, he had stationed a number of guards around the two spires overlooking the central balcony and several throughout the grounds.

 

“Is it too much? If you want to go back to sword fighting or—”

 

“No,” Victor interrupted, equal parts exasperated and fond. “It’s not too much. And I can sword fight anytime, we sparred yesterday—I don’t care much for competing, okay? I don’t regret doing this, I haven’t since I met you and—why are you smiling?”

 

Yuuri looked like he was trying to not laugh. “It’s just—I’m sorry, you were getting a bit loud. I wish you could give the speech for me.”

 

“I’m passionate about this,” Victor grumbled. “Not the Chair of Defense thing.”

 

Yuuri’s face fell at the mention, his eyes flickering down to the papers. “Should I take it from the top?”

 

“In a bit.” Victor moved the papers to his other side, hidden from Yuuri’s view. “When it’s not the first thing on your mind. You are still coming for my birthday, right?”

 

It was nearly a month too late to be considered a birthday party; it was more of just Chris needing an excuse to check out Capitol City’s party scene. Victor had coaxed Yuuri into going, but he still doubted that Yuuri wouldn’t find an excuse to get out of it.

 

“Yeah but…ugh. I don’t know your friends, it’s going to be weird.”

 

Victor hummed thoughtfully. “They’re Chris’s friends, I don’t even know who he’s bringing along so we’re basically in the same boat.”

 

Yuuri sighed, looking conflicted. “I’ll just—I’ll try to dress inconspicuously.”

 

Victor did not point out that Yuuri would probably get recognized anywhere even if he wore a sack over his head. “Clubs are dark with weird lighting. I promise it’ll be fun.”

 

Yuuri smiled reassuringly. “I said I’d go.”

 

“I’m looking forward to it.” The last couple of weeks had been so hectic, aside from quitting his sport, Victor hadn’t realized just how many documents needed his signature in the process of receiving the title of Yuuri’s bodyguard. He shuffled the papers. “You want to try again?

 

He went through it a few more times, and it sounded fine to Victor, but Yuuri kept finding tiny inconsistencies. The words were mush by the sixth repeat, his eyes gliding, rather than reading them over when the door made a low, ringing sound. A silver panel peeled back to a one-way window revealing a man with faded brown hair and a pointy chin. Victor glanced at Yuuri.

 

Yuuri deliberated for a moment and then sighed. “You can let him in.”

 

Faded Hair man’s eyes were darting side to side, and the door vibrated again. Twice. “Come in,” Victor said, sitting up straight.

 

The panel closed up as the door was pushed open, and the man looked between Victor and Yuuri a few times. “Your Highness, I need to get you ready for the speech.”

 

Yuuri smiled. “Thank you, Yuuto. Just wait outside my room, I’ll be there in a bit.”

 

He bowed, almost losing his grip on the door and tumbling into the room. He righted himself, eyes darting between them a few more times. “Um—Mr. Nikiforov, sir—I’m a big fan. Good to see you around here.”

 

He shut the door quickly behind him.

 

The expression on Yuuri’s face was one of playful annoyance. “Is this going to keep happening? Palace workers just stopping by to say they’re your fan?”

 

It was a little strange; some of the older workers had known Victor since he was a kid, and he was sure they weren’t his biggest supporters then. “I’m just offended that you’re not the president of this fanclub.”

 

“Haha,” Yuuri said sarcastically, stepping towards the door. “I’ll meet you on the balcony?”

 

Vicchan, upon seeing his owner leaving, hopped off his perch on Makkachin’s head and followed Yuuri out.

 

Victor tossed the speech notes aside and pulled out a folded blueprint for the palace from his desk. It was vast and more complicated than it was worth. The central balcony jutted out over the palace walls, overlooking a large, easily accessed square of land. The lines on the paper made it seem like an architectural masterpiece, but to Victor, it was just out there, open to attack.

 

He already had the blueprint memorized, so he didn’t know why he kept staring at it. At this point, it would be an inconvenience to add more guards, and yet his finger traced over the inked lines as if they’d reshape into some brilliant idea to keep Yuuri safe.

 

In theory, he knew none of this was necessary. He was enough to protect Yuuri. _Yuuri_ was enough to protect Yuuri. Makkachin padded up to him and settled her head on his knee. Victor brushed his hand over her neck, smiled when her tail starting thumping.

 

But he kept his other hand on the blueprint, thumbing over a worn corner. Still thinking.

 

The speech went just like the rehearsals. Victor was already there when Yuuri arrived, leaning against the parapet, eyes roaming over the masses of people, the flashing cameras.  The balcony started extending forward when Yuuri pressed his hands to the railing, and the cheering started.

 

Victor’s smile was reassuring, but he didn’t think it helped much because when Yuuri raised his hand for silence, it trembled. His voice was steady, however, and the words flowing out were well-paced and strong.

 

“…I am so thankful to have your trust and be able to talk to you. To be managing the safety of our people is, well, no pressure at all—” A wave of laughter from the people. More camera flashes.

 

Victor tuned in and out. The soldiers on the left spire stood relaxed like him, but their bows were taut with sparking arrows.

 

“…Ravdan is a major priority, there isn’t any immediate action we can take but we are putting forth our best efforts to learn anything…”

 

Victor’s fingers drummed over the hilt of his sword.  Its coolness was soothing.

 

“…We have made progress in getting to the center of the rogue assassin rings. I can’t believe this needs to be said, but please don’t go hiring hitmen off any website with a nice logo—” Laughter again, louder this time.

 

Victor smiled. This wasn’t in the script Yuuri had recited to Victor, but it sounded good. Sounded like Yuuri.

 

“…and lastly, I want to thank you for your support. I hope to not disappoint with any of my future decisions. You can always give me your input through your sovereign.”

 

A couple more minutes, several more sentences, and the speech was over.  It hadn’t been that long when it was just the two of them. The balcony receded back and Victor’s hand relaxed on the hilt. I didn’t recall clenching it so hard.

 

Large oak doors closed shut, cutting off the echoes of applause. Yuuri turned to the two guards standing with them. “You’re dismissed.”

 

They bowed but remained there, eyeing Victor.

 

“Your Highness,” Victor said, casual. “I need to go with them. We need to finalize security details for your kingdom tour.”

 

“Oh, of course.” Yuuri mimicked the politeness of Victor’s voice. “But I need to discuss some personal, uh, security concerns with you.”

 

“In that case,” Victor spared the guards a glance, “I’ll join you two later.”

 

Once they were out of earshot, Yuuri sucked in a deep breath. “How do you think I did? God, that wasn’t too bad, right? I went off the script I made in the middle and it ended up a bit longer—”

 

“It was great,” Victor interrupted. “I think people could have listened to your voice forever.” Then threw in, “And your ideas. Those too.”

 

“What ideas?” Yuuri ran a hand up his face and into his hair, skewing over the crown. “I just repeatedly talked about the same three things in different words.”

 

“Yuuri, I said it then and I’ll say it now—that’s a talent.”

 

He cracked a reluctant smile.  “I’ll let you go. I have a meeting too.”

 

The meeting was in a room with a high-arched ceiling and long, paneled windows that stretched across each wall. The floor plan was ridiculously open for something so private, but Victor had learned to not get too surprised by the odd architectural decisions made for the palace.

 

On the center table was a large, interactive map of Hasetsu, with changing colors which corresponded to a long, labeled chart floating above them. One of the guards was swapping through them while the others threw in occasional suggestions. The chatter stopped once they noticed Victor’s silent entrance and then immediately rose once again.

 

A bearded man raised a hand in a lazy salute. “Victor, long time no see, last I heard you switched to competing! And now you’re back here being our prince’s bodyguard.” Victor could not recall ever seeing this man beyond the file he had perused to pick out the guards he wanted to consider bringing along.

 

Victor nodded politely anyway. “That’s what my original training was geared for.”

 

“Can’t let that go to waste. What an honorable position.”

 

“Yes.” Victor took over from the guard going over the chart and used his hand to pull it apart into different categories.

 

“And you get to be privy to certain information.”

 

Victor finally spared the man a glance. “No more privy than you, I’m afraid.” It was partially a lie, Yuuri had given him full, 24/7 access to his living quarters.

 

“Oh, come now, Victor. It’s no secret you’re friends with our prince.”

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” There was a touch of steel in Victor’s voice and nervous murmuring spread through the room.

 

The man wilted. “I’m just thinking about how that speech didn’t really say anything about Ravdan. The public is going to eat up those pretty words, but some of us are not so easily fooled.” At Victor’s narrowed eyes, he hastily added, “I meant no offense to you or the royal family, of course.”

 

Victor pushed at the separated chart and the segments spiraled to different corners of the table. “We’re here to talk about Prince Katsuki’s cross-kingdom tour, not Ravdan. Get into groups and give me some notes on the security details for each district on those panels.”

 

He gave the bearded guard a taut, cold smile. “I don't think we're close enough for you to just call me Victor, sir."

 

The meeting lasted hours, with only a few breaks scattered throughout. Every district had different customs, different geography, different problems. They argued over routes, travel companies, weaponry—everything.

 

It was only when the sky was black and streaked with gray clouds that Victor found himself in Yuuri’s quarters. He sat at the vanity, poring over a box containing nail polish in every shade while Yuuri slouched over at a table.

 

“Why do you have so much nail polish?” He picked up a dark purple. “How often do you even see your nails?”

 

Yuuri lifted his head.  “I kept stealing them from Mari when I was a kid. Way before I met you, I think. I couldn't decide what to do with them when I moved rooms so I just stuffed them there.”

 

Victor raised an eyebrow, turning the bottle over. “Did you know what these colors were called?”

 

“No, why?”

 

“Just asking.” Victor squeezed Violet Orgasm into a far corner. He considered two shades of green. “I’ve never seen Princess Mari wear nail polish.”

 

Yuuri turned in his chair. “She doesn’t. I really thought I was annoying her but she was just using them to put her initials on random walls.”

 

“I feel like I learned a lot about her just now.” He held up the two bottles. “Which one?”

 

Yuuri studied them. “Um?” He squinted. “They’re both green?”

 

Victor tilted the one in his right hand. “This one’s Mint Kiss, and this one,” he tilted his other hand, “is Rainforest Cloud.”

 

“Rainforest Cloud.”

 

He hummed and shook the bottle. It was hard to enjoy the leaves painting themselves across his nails when he could feel Yuuri’s tension in the air between them. “We’ve been working all day. Don’t you want to take a break?”

 

Yuuri slid down his chair. “This isn’t exactly _work_ work. It’s a proposal.”

 

“For what?” Victor already knew Yuuri would say some royalty-political jargon, and then he could make a joke about how he 'didn’t speak that language', and maybe he could simply proceed into distracting Yuuri for an hour or ten.

 

Yuuri shuffled the papers. “For dating. Marriage. Stuff like that.”

 

He fumbled with the brush and leaves painted themselves down his ring finger. “Dating? _Marriage?_ ”

 

“Yeah, a lord from Teien district sent me a letter about—basically it’s three pages on how nice my hair is and how we should go on a date when he visits Capitol City.”

 

“Well, you do have nice hair.” Which, while true, wasn’t what Victor wanted to say. He didn’t know what he wanted to say; he couldn’t find any logic to link up with his sudden annoyance.

 

Yuuri shrugged, and Victor enjoyed the careless way he dropped the letter. “I mean, it’s not real.  He doesn’t _mean_ any of it. They just want the power.”

 

Victor wholeheartedly agreed that this lord of Teien as up to no good, but not for the same reasons as Yuuri. He wasn’t sure if he had a reason. “I’m not saying they don’t want power, but I don’t think anybody saying nice things about you is lying.” And as usual, once he started, he couldn’t stop. “It’s not even hard to write three pages on your hair, you have a lot of good things going for you.”

 

“Your finger is green,” Yuuri pointed out, his cheeks pink.

 

It wasn’t pretty leaf patterns anymore, his entire finger was a solid shade of Rainforest Cloud. Victor put the brush back in the bottle and slung his arm over the back of the chair. “How many of these proposals have you, you know, looked into?” He practically sang it, hiding unbidden curiosity under teasing.

 

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “No comment.”

 

Victor pointed the green finger. “I’ll wheedle it out of you.”

 

A playful smile. “I know you will.”

 

Yuuri pushed the letters away. There had been a pressure on Victor's neck, he hadn’t noticed until it lightened, more and more, the farther the letters were from Yuuri. His eyes unconsciously flicked to Yuuri’s hands, his gloves. _How would that work?_ Yuuri had never been fond of people touching his skin, and maybe that was another thing that had changed over the years, but Victor had yet to see evidence of it.

 

And he wasn’t going to ask. There were a rare few things they didn’t press from each other.

 

“Victor.”

 

“Hm?” Victor tore his eyes away, hoping Yuuri hadn’t noticed him staring at his hands.

 

“About my kingdom tour. It’s going to end before my birthday.”

 

He grinned. “That’s like ten months away but if there's something you already wanted—”

 

“No, no!” Yuuri shook his head, his cheeks reddening again. “I don’t want anything. It’s just—we’ll have a banquet, and I’ll be expected to dance with guests and,” Yuuri’s hand fidgeted, “I was wondering if you knew how to?”

 

“Oh.” He knew how to dance but— “like partnered and ballroom, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Yuuri was leaning forward.

 

“No, but it can’t be that hard.” He unnecessarily added, “I can sword fight, it’s the same.”

 

“Is it?” Yuuri had a small smirk on his face. “Do you want to try?” He got up and walked towards Victor and held a hand out.

 

Despite the years they spent apart, it wasn't difficult for Victor to read Yuuri, evidence of their lasting friendship perhaps. But there were other times, which seemed to happen more and more, where he scrambled to fill in the blanks that had grown from their distance.

 

Like right now.

 

There was no such thing as embarrassment between them, but a sudden shyness set Victor’s back straight, made him sensitive. The texture of Yuuri’s gloves was velvet, smooth. “Sure.”

 

Yuuri tugged him up, walked backward, bringing Victor somewhere around the center of the room. He turned their hands over, Victor locked their fingers together, Yuuri pulled their hands up. Yuuri’s other hand slid over the curve of his waist.

 

“Your hand on my shoulder.”

 

Victor’s hand bunched into the thick, luxurious layers covering Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri’s smile widened. He took a step, and Victor followed. Another step, and he followed.

 

And then he moved the wrong foot and Yuuri winced. “Sorry, sorry!” The words came out short, rapid.

 

Yuuri shook his head. “I was just surprised.”

 

He swiveled them around and Victor stumbled to match his pace. He proceeded to step on Yuuri’s feet several more times. Dancing was, in fact, _that_ hard.

 

“So, did you just ask me to do this to show off?” Victor joked.

 

Yuuri’s smile was rueful. “You’re the one who said I should take a break.” His thumb rubbed over Victor’s absentmindedly. “But no, I just wanted to do something. We haven’t really hung out in a long time.” He spun them in slow circles. “Even when we’re in the same place now, we’re so busy.”

 

A cozy, soft warmth filled him. “You should have picked something I was better at.”

 

“You can’t possibly act like you’re perfect around me.” Yuuri’s hand slid from his shoulder, curved down the expanse of his back, and he was being dipped back. “Move like it's swordplay.”

 

Victor’s feet adjusted naturally, his hand grasping at Yuuri’s collar. There was no music, it should have been weird, the only sound was Victor’s shoes as they slid once they stood upright again—but it wasn’t. His hand in Yuuri’s, the alternating black and white of Yuuri’s gloved fingers and Victor’s bare ones, they fit.

 

A tug. Another tug. Yuuri pressed his fingers in the indents between his knuckles. “Victor.”

 

“Yes?” His eyes were still tied to their hands. Yuuri squeezed, and tugged his hand again; this time, Victor let his fingers slide past his own. “Sorry, the light caught my nail polish well.”

 

“Your finger is green,” Yuuri reminded.

 

And the way that moment had hung, like it had been picked out and brought away from time and duties and _titles,_ ended.

 

“Yes, and?” Victor stepped back, his hand falling away from Yuuri’s shoulder. “I said what I said. The light catches it well.”

 

* * *

 

The door creaked open. Victor couldn’t see who it was, the counter blocked his view, but the footsteps gave it away. They were whispers across the ground, and if he wasn’t attuned to the sound he would have missed it. Yuuri’s hand trailed over the counter as he rounded it and he sat on the floor next to Victor.

 

“Why are you awake so late?” A poor question to ask, since he was the one who had texted Yuuri, and Yuuri always slept late.

 

“Why are you?” Yuuri scuffed his foot against the tile. He was wearing socks.

 

“A guy can’t eat chips on the kitchen floor?” It was easier to joke. The chip bag crinkled as Victor offered it to Yuuri.

 

One of the orbs of light that lit the kitchen in a dim, yellow wash drifted lower, closer to them, and reflected off Yuuri’s glasses. Yuuri eyed the chip bag, his mouth turning down. He took his glove off one hand picked out a small handful. There was no sound, save for an occasional crunch as they ate.

 

“I had a dream about my parents.”

 

And these were rare dreams. Victor never saw faces, just hands rubbing his head, pinching his cheeks, tossing him in the air and catching him. But he knew. Those pairs of hands belonged to his mother and father, his mother and mother, his father and father, his parent one and parent two.

 

Yuuri said nothing, only pressed his leg up to Victor’s. And the silence should have been oppressive, the dull, faded light of the walls should have been bleary, but all Victor felt was the solid curve of Yuuri’s knee against his own.

 

“They were part of the group that went to Ravdan.” There was nothing else to add there, nothing to specify—only one group of people had ever entered Ravdan, and they had never returned. Yuuri already knew what happened after, of running away from the orphanage, of Yakov finding him. But just like Yuuri and his gloves, what happened to Victor’s parents had always been in a murky, unknown territory they got used to skirting around. Maybe Yuuri knew about Ravdan too, maybe Yuuri had read his—

 

“I didn’t know that,” Yuuri whispered. His leg pressed closer.

 

“You didn’t read my file? I said it in my file.” Yuuri stayed silent, so he continued, “We have to fill out a questionnaire type of thing, right before we become soldiers and—”

 

“I know that,” Yuuri interrupted. “But I’ve never read your file. I don’t want to know something about you that you don’t tell me yourself.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri’s face was carefully unreadable. He poked at the orb still hovering before them, then nudged it to Victor. It bobbed in front of him. Victor held his hand out, let it bounce off each finger. He turned Yuuri’s words over in his mind, let them move in circles around him. It was like missing a step on a staircase whenever Yuuri said things like this, these small, raw truths. He flicked the orb back to Yuuri.

 

“Haven’t you ever wondered why Yakov didn’t just drop you back off at the orphanage?” The light from the orb flickered as it went under and over Yuuri’s fingers.

 

Victor frowned; the question was out of the blue. “Not really. I didn’t care back then and it’s been years now. I kind of just assumed he saw a sad kid and wanted to be nice.”

 

“When I was a kid, the adults around me were never nice unless they had something to gain out of it. I didn’t realize until I got older.” Yuuri passed the orb back to Victor. “Sorry, I’m being paranoid. Either way, I’m glad you’re with me.”

 

“I would have ended up here no matter what,” Victor reassured. He had to, there was no world without him and Yuuri, without their friendship.

 

“Here? You mean on our kitchen floor, playing with the lights and sharing chips with me?”

 

Victor gave an amused huff. “I didn’t ever imagine I’d be that lucky, no.” He trapped the ball in his hands, and the light escaped through the cracks between his fingers, paneling over the walls. “But I would have figured out what happened to my parents eventually, and I’d want to do this, fight, or do _something._ But I know I’d be the best at whatever I'd need to do to learn about my parents and everything that happened there, and you know, you'd be the best too, and then we’d have to meet.”

 

Yuuri mumbled something incoherent and rested his head on Victor’s shoulder. His cheeks warmed. “Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri sighed.

 

Victor gently moved his shoulder. “Yuuri,” Victor said his name again, just because. Because it was nice, so pretty, dancing out of his mouth like a song. Because he could only say it like that—casual and familiar—when they were alone.

 

“Yes. Sorry, I heard what you said.”

 

Victor's lips quirked up. The gloomy wistfulness of dreaming about his parents had vanished. “Even the part about overthrowing you?”

 

Yuuri shoved his leg forcefully into Victor’s.

 

* * *

 

Victor had his shirt lifted with one hand, the other pressed the horizontal length of the dagger against his torso. In the mirror, the dagger blurred into his skin, curved into the planes of his chest and abdomen, then disappeared. It left a lingering sensation that had an uncanny resemblance to getting an eyelash stuck in his eye. Victor shuddered, and let his shirt fall back over him. Cell magic was almost always invasive. He slipped on a blazer and threw his sword a longing gaze before leaving his room.  

 

Yuuri was leaning on the wall, right next to his door, scrolling through his phone. He stood straight when he saw Victor, his eyes widening. Victor’s teeth nearly gnashed together to stop his jaw from falling open.

 

The sleeves of Yuuri’s shirt had large cut-outs going down the entire length of his arms, with some sheer, mesh fabric underneath. His gloves were made out of the same material, crisscrossing over his hand in layers of gray and black.

 

“Victor,” Yuuri said firmly, and Victor realized Yuuri must have repeated his name. “Does it look bad or something?”

 

Whatever _it_ was, it definitely did not look bad. “I thought you were going for inconspicuous.”

 

Yuuri groaned. “I didn’t wear my crown. I thought I would blend in if I wore something like this.”

 

“I hate to break it to you,” Victor said as they walked towards the palace gates, “but the crown isn’t what gives you away. You just look—” _really good?_ “—like a prince trying to fit in with us regular folk.”

 

“Regular folk? I hate to break it to you, but you’re technically still a celebrity.”

 

The coach ride was silent, punctuated only by the notification alerts on their phones.  Victor was alternating between Chris’s unnecessary club updates and making side notes on the painfully packed schedule for Yuuri’s cross-kingdom trip.

 

“What if Chris doesn’t like me?”

 

“Chris likes everyone. Too much.”

 

“But your other friends? What if they don’t like me?”

 

Victor sighed, turning his phone off. “Yuuri, even if they were my friends, I would drop and delete anyone who didn’t like you.”

 

Yuuri’s face was tinged with red in the window’s reflection. “Don’t be dramatic.”

 

They entered the club through the back, to avoid getting gawked at by the people lined up at the entrance. It was dark, with spontaneous bursts of neon light. Music blared around him and the floor trembled with the sound.  People pushed around them, drinks splashing, their faces distorted by flashes of color.

 

Somebody rammed into Victor’s side. “Victor!” Chris tugged him into a quick hug.

 

“You look good!” Victor yelled over the music. Chris gestured to his ear and Victor rolled his eyes. He wrapped a hand around Yuuri’s elbow to give a gentle tug and they moved to a corner where the music was muted.

 

The thing about Chris was that when he met new people, he didn’t talk to them, he purred.

 

“Your Highness.” He held his hand out; Yuuri attempted to shake it but Chris turned Yuuri's hand over and swooped to press his mouth over it. “It’s a pleasure to be in such honorable company. I have heard so much about you from Victor.”

 

“Nothing too embarrassing, I hope.” Yuuri cast Victor a sidelong glance and all Victor could do was shrug.

 

“It only made me look forward to meeting you.” Chris’s mouth was still on the back of Yuuri’s hand. Between that and the mild discomfort on Yuuri’s face, Victor wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or strangle Chris.

 

Yuuri gave a bland smile and pried his hand away. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

 

Chris wasn’t deterred. “I’m going to get drinks. Do you have any preferences, Your Highness?”

 

“I’m fine right now.” As Chris trailed away, Yuuri leaned closer to Victor. “The first thing I’ll do when I become king is ban this hand-kissing business.”

 

Victor raised his eyebrows in exaggerated shock. “Sounds controversial.”

 

“ _Prince Katsuki?”_

The playful glint in Yuuri’s eyes vanished. Yuuri turned to the girls peering at them with a different kind of smile, something that was carefully painted on. “Hello. Where are you guys from?”

 

“Who is—?” One of the girls narrowed her eyes at Victor but Yuuri stepped in front of him, pressing back on Victor’s chest.

 

“It’s my bodyguard, I came out to celebrate his birthday.” Yuuri looked back over his shoulder at Victor. “I’ll join you at the bar later.”

 

Yuuri turned back to whatever the other girl had started saying before Victor could argue. “Studying abroad from Zemiland? I haven't been there since I was a kid.”

 

Victor took a hesitant step back, his thumb rubbing at the ring on his finger. He kept glancing back as he jostled his way over to Chris, even though the flashing lights made it difficult to get a clear image of Yuuri. Chris, as per usual, was chatting up the bartender.

 

“Oh sorry,” he apologized half-heartedly. “I was about to bring the drinks to you.”

 

“I’m sure you were.” Victor sat on the barstool, angled himself so he could keep Yuuri in his line of sight. “Yuuri’s talking to some people, he’ll be here in a bit.”

 

Chris pushed a shot glass towards Victor. “No such thing as off-duty for princes, hm?”

 

“Guess not.” Victor threw back the shot with Chris. “How are you? I’ve heard you’re off the market.”

 

Chris’s smile was all too pleased. “You get caught with the same guy twice and people start throwing around words like ‘committed’ and ‘long-term’.”

 

“Oh my god.” Victor was pleasantly surprised. “So you’re trying to be serious.”

 

“Your mileage may vary on serious.” Chris winked at the bartender and two more drinks were placed in front of them. “But I have a good thing going.”

 

They clinked the shot glasses and threw them back as well. This one burned less.

 

“Have you put in your application for the Worlds tournament? They're a lot nicer if you turn them in early you know.”

 

“I know you know that I’m quitting competitions.”

 

“You said hiatus, and I thought that would just be for the Grand Prix? As in, you were gonna do some bodyguard mission for him,” Chris’s shoulder jerked towards wherever he must have assumed Yuuri was, “and hang out a bit and then get back to it.”

 

“No, the position is permanent.” Victor didn’t have the time to go through social media, but he knew Chris wasn’t the only one confused about this. He just didn’t find it in himself to care.

 

Chris turned to the bartender. “Can we get your two strongest mixed drinks?” He turned back to Victor with a glare. “Does Captain Yakov know about this?”

 

“He's the one who set me up for this when I was a kid.”

 

Chris leaned back on the barstool, eyes widening. “I—okay. I guess that makes sense. It's a secure job. Pays well. He'd want that for you.”

 

Victor sighed. “It’s not just a job. He’s my best friend.” He figured it would be best to not mention that he wasn’t even accepting payment.

 

“You shouldn't be here just because he,” Chris’s shoulder jerked again, “makes you feel less lonely or sad or _whatever_.”

 

“You're not wrong, but maybe I'm also here because he reminds me what joy feels like,” Victor snapped, tongue looser from alcohol, his fingers tightening around the stem of whatever cocktail was set before him.

 

He didn't know how to explain it to Chris, how to tell him competitions, missions, jumping from one thing to the next, striving for some unmarked perfection and remaking himself each time was a shackle dragging him along to the next big achievement. 

 

And it was like Yuuri was magic, the ease with which he tore apart that shackle, made Victor enjoy being bad at things, enjoy being himself.

 

Chris pursed his lips. He stared down at his drink, swishing it around in the glass.

 

“I'm sorry,” Victor said, if only to be nice. “That came out harsh.”

 

“No, I get it.” Then Chris scrunched his nose and leveled Victor with a distasteful look. “Scratch that, I don't get it, but now that you’re out I can be the best swordsman.”

 

“Personally, I always thought you were the best.”

 

“Hey.” Yuuri appeared next to him, resting his elbows on the bar counter. His eyes were bright with the flashing lights floating over them.

 

“What were you talking about with those girls?”

 

“Small talk,” Yuuri said vaguely before his smile turned mischievous. “And you.”

 

Victor tilted his head, frowning. “Me?”

 

“Everyone knows you’re working for the prince of Hasetsu,” Chris said matter-of-factly, “Victor, you were at the press conference when Yakov said it.”

 

Victor opened his mouth, then closed it. He was pretty sure he had spent most of the press conference reviewing some of Yuuri's travel plans with his phone hidden under the table. He plastered on a smile and settled for an evasive, “I forgot.”

 

If Yuuri picked up on his discomfort, he didn’t show it. Instead, he reached for Victor’s drink. “What is that?”

 

“It’s strong,” Victor warned as he passed it over. He tried not to be too impressed when Yuuri downed it without a wince.

 

“I like this one.” Yuuri pressed his tongue against his cheek. “Christophe, have you tried—” And then Yuuri comfortably said a name Victor didn’t think he’d be able to pronounce.

 

“No, that sounds interesting, Your Highness.” Chris slid his arm across the counter towards to Yuuri, and Victor, unfortunately, stuck in the middle of the exchange, was forced to lean back.

 

“You can just call me Yuuri,” he said, ordered three of the aforementioned drinks, "since Victor has apparently already told you a lot about me." 

 

Chris was very obviously disarmed and Victor had the urge to say _I told you so,_ even though Chris hadn't technically said anything bad about Yuuri. It must have shown on his face because Chris met his eyes and gave him a begrudging smile. The drinks were placed in front of them and they were different—as in they kept transitioning between colors.

 

“It’s so good,” Chris breathed out, a little obscene for just tasting an alcoholic beverage.

 

At some point, Chris dragged Victor into the mass of people dancing. He tried to get Yuuri to join but Yuuri just laughed, just shook his head, and with Chris pulling his other arm, he couldn’t do much persuading. The lights and grinding bodies made him feel drunker than he really was, but he was doing less dancing and more navigating, his thumb almost incessantly brushing at the always cool metal of his ring.

 

Victor started counting time by songs, he lost Chris by the fifth song and by what he thought might be the eleventh, a hand wrapped around his wrist, and he allowed that hand to pull him because he knew that grasp, that particular brand of firm gentleness anywhere. Yuuri led him through the small gaps between blurry bodies and somehow found a section of space with fewer people. Yuuri glanced at him over his shoulder, and he might have said something, but Victor couldn’t hear over the music.

 

Yuuri’s hand slipped from his wrist but Victor grabbed onto his fingers, used them to lift Yuuri’s hand up to twirl him. Yuuri grinned and allowed it, spinning effortlessly. He interlocked their hands and tugged Victor closer.

 

“Are you drunk?”

 

“No. Maybe? I don’t think so.”

 

Yuuri’s smile was wicked as he dipped Victor with no warning. Victor found balance easily, his leg lifting for stability and his free hand splayed out on Yuuri’s back. Yuuri’s fingers skimmed down the side of his jaw and around the back of his neck, the uneven texturing of his gloves catching on the ends on Victor’s hair as he pulled both of them back upright.

 

They did their own dance, swinging each other around haphazardly, laughing. And if anybody noticed, Victor didn’t care. Everyone else could go about doing their vertical, rhythmic rubbing while Victor and Yuuri did— _stunts,_ Victor thought mildly as he dipped Yuuri this time, mindful that his hands never strayed from Yuuri’s shirt.

 

They left the club through the back exit as well, Victor’s arm was slung over Yuuri’s shoulder, both of them laughing at a joke Victor didn’t remember saying while Chris trailed behind them, tapping away on his phone. Yuuri insisted on making sure Chris had secured a ride to his hotel before they got into their own coach.

 

“Prince Yuuri, you will come support me at the Grand Prix tournament, won’t you?”

 

Yuuri’s smile was shy, and he scratched the back of his head. “You’re not from Hasetsu so technically no, but I’m sure you’ll do well.”

 

Victor took one last picture with Chris before finally joining Yuuri inside the coach. He accepted the water bottle Yuuri offered and drank slowly, watching the people out the window. Most of them seemed drunk, hopefully headed home, but more likely headed to whatever club was still open at this time.

 

He turned to hand the bottle back to Yuuri. His eyes were soft, and Victor felt even softer under his gaze. “What is it?”

 

“I always thought you were the one who should be a prince.”

 

“That’s bullshit.” Victor was a little buzzed, clouded enough to be blunt about shutting down whatever self-deprecating thing Yuuri was about to say.

 

Yuuri laughed. “I mean that you look the part. If I wasn’t so sure of my heritage, I’d think we had a switched at birth type of situation.”

 

Victor’s head lolled against his shoulder. “You’re very strong, Yuuri. Having a whole kingdom depend on you for safety isn’t easy. I wouldn’t be able to do that.”

 

Yuuri smiled but didn’t say anything until the coach dropped them off inside the palace walls. They took the long way, through the gardens. “You always get upset with me for selling myself short, but you do the same.”

 

“No, I don’t,” Victor argued, “I know what I’m good at.”

 

Yuuri’s eyes drifted lower, to where Victor’s dagger was pressed under his shirt. Yuuri probably knew he was carrying a weapon, but Victor hadn’t told Yuuri where. “You’re worth more than what you’re good at.”

 

That threw Victor in a loop, and he nearly stumbled. Yuuri predictably didn’t notice, his hand brushing gently over the flowers they strolled by. In an effort to say something, to return the sentiment in some way, Victor said, “So are you.”

 

It sounded pitifully bare in comparison and Yuuri opened his mouth, no doubt to refute what Victor just said, so Victor opened his mouth too, prepared to defend Yuuri against himself. They stood there, staring at each other with open mouths, words ready. Yuuri’s mouth snapped shut first, his lips twisting as he held back a laugh and he wordlessly started walking again.

 

Victor bit back a smile too, took a step, and then he really did stumble. The moon peered at them between the gaps of the swaying sunflowers, poured its light down, and it was stupid, so unfairly stupid _,_ Yuuri’s hair was _pitch black_ , the moon had no right to do such mesmerizing things to it.

 

Yuuri’s hand shot out to steady Victor. His lips still held that quirk of amusement, but his eyes were concerned. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

 

“No.” If Victor was drunk it certainly wasn’t on alcohol, but his response must have been unconvincing because Yuuri shook his head and gave a small, breathy laugh.

 

“I hope we don’t bump into any of the palace workers inside. Wouldn’t want them to see the great Victor Nikiforov like this.”

 

“What will you say if we do?”

 

Yuuri smirked. “We were sparring—”

 

“At three in the morning?” Victor interrupted.

 

“We were sparring,” Yuuri repeated resolutely, “and I completely beat you.”

 

“Shouldn’t you say something believable?”

 

Yuuri’s shoulder knocked lightly against his. “I’m leaving you here. The venus flytraps can pick out your eyes.”

 

* * *

 

The next ten months were simultaneously grueling and a blur. Victor would blink, and a month would be gone. When Yuuri was not practicing speeches in front of Victor, he was giving them. When Yuuri was not re-enacting questions for his meetings and conferences with Victor, he was having them. They kept repeating a cycle of destinations that mostly consisted of train stations, hotels, and important-looking buildings of questionable design.

 

Victor divided his time between memorizing and organizing the security detail for each district they went to, studying blueprints, making plans and formations with the guards, being sure the guards had appropriate accommodations, and trying to cooperate with Yuuri’s inept personal assistant.

 

“My actual assistant is on family leave,” Yuuri had explained, “Minami’s a nice kid, cut him some slack.”

 

“Nice kid, sure—but not efficient,” Victor muttered, trying to rearrange guard shifts _again_ to fit with Yuuri’s convoluted schedule.

 

By August, they had spent six months trekking through over half of Hasetsu’s districts without trouble. The dark circles Yuuri had developed under his eyes were almost bruise-like, and if they weren’t in the middle of some type of work, he’d start nodding off. Victor was unsure how to express his concern about his lack of sleep.

 

“Why do they have to give me so many gifts? They know I’m going to donate them anyway, it’s just more luggage,” Yuuri complained. They were at a personalized waiting room at the train station.

 

“Carry them in those bags under your eyes,” Victor retorted.

 

Yuuri cast him an unimpressed look. “Why? Because the ones under yours are already full?”

 

“I’m used to weird sleep schedules.”

 

“So am I.” Yuuri’s eyes softened. “I’m ordering you to take a nap.”

 

Victor did not take the nap, he couldn’t. He didn’t even remember the last time Yuuri slept. He grabbed a stack of papers. “You just need to sign these, right?”

 

Yuuri made a jumbled sound of assent.

 

Victor pulled the papers towards him and started forging Yuuri’s signature onto them.

 

 

They were at their final stop before being back at Hasetsu palace. Yuuri had a rare slot of free time so he was practicing with a sparring dummy. Victor sat on a bench, watching while fiddling with a dagger. He tossed it in the air, it swiveled and spiraled down, landing point first on the tip of his finger. There was something wrong, he could see it in Yuuri’s stiff form, in the way his leg moved crooked as he drop-kicked the practice dummy.

 

Yuuri stood up, waited for the dummy to put itself back together, then turned it off and looked at Victor. “Spar with me.”

 

Victor wanted to suggest that Yuuri sleep instead, remind him they wouldn’t have another hour like this to themselves for a good while, but he figured Yuuri already knew that. The fact that he was itching to spar with Yuuri again played into his easy agreement, but he pretended it didn’t.

 

Yuuri’s sword hilt had a comfortable warmth, like the delicate heat that emanated from a fireplace. Victor unsheathed it and left the holster leaning against the bench before standing up and handing the sword over to Yuuri.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to use practice swords?” Victor always asked this question, even though his sword, and for that matter, any weapon he carried, would never hurt Yuuri.

 

Yuuri grinned, leveled Victor with the intensely bright, jagged blade. “We can use our own. I can take you on either way.”

 

Victor raised a brow, his mouth curving up at the challenge. “If you say so.”

 

He pulled out his sword, and in contrast to Yuuri’s, his blade had a crystallized and frosted surface; the hilt hummed with familiarity and the temperature dropped a couple significant degrees around him. When their swords clashed, the air sizzled and drops of condensation popped up on his blade.

 

The air around them grew more humid as they swung at each other. Yuuri swapped his sword in a flash from his right hand to his left, meeting Victor’s with an experienced ease.

 

It went like this for a while, something a little too lighthearted to be considered sparring, before Victor spoke. “You’re worried about something.”

 

Yuuri stayed silent for several turns, focusing on blocking Victor’s strikes instead. “It’s been very peaceful.”

 

Victor had a keen idea of what Yuuri was referring to. “And you're worried about that?”

 

Yuuri switched to offensive without a warning, and Victor had to loop the hilt between his fingers so the flat of his sword shielded his eyes from the edge of Yuuri’s blade. “It shouldn’t be, no spy ships from any kingdom have sunk in Ravdan waters this entire year. That’s good, right?”

 

Victor’s mouth twisted. There was no easy answer to a question like that. “Good in the sense that no soldiers are dead, yes.”

 

A sharp shrill cut through his ears as Yuuri’s blade grated down the length of Victor’s. “So? Do you think something might be going on too?”

 

While they were still in Hasetsu, the walls which enclosed them didn’t have the safety of the palace. Victor’s senses tingled with apprehension. “Maybe we should talk about this some other time. When we don’t have so much on our plates.”

 

The flats of both blades slammed into each other with blunt force, and the sound was almost like thunder—his sword’s natural instinct to destroy Yuuri’s stopped only by Victor’s absolute lack of intention.

 

“You’re right,” Yuuri said, and Victor was jealous over how even and relaxed his voice was. “It might just be nothing.”

 

He, on the other hand, was a little winded as he said, “I wouldn’t be that hopeful.” He slumped over their crossed swords and pressed his forehead to Yuuri’s.

 

One exhausted, huffed breath, two, _three,_ went by before Victor realized what he’d done. What he was _doing_.

 

He sprang back, his hand slapping his forehead as if that could reverse time. “Yuuri, oh I—I’m so sorry.”

 

Yuuri was looking at Victor like he’d grown a second head. “Sorry about what? Are you okay?”

 

“Your forehead I—I know you’re not fond of people touching your skin and I just—“ Victor gestured rapidly between them “—did that with my head.”

 

“What are you talking about? I’m very fond of it.” Yuuri’s face turned a furious shade of red, and his hand rubbed his forehead, mirroring Victor. “That came out weird. What I mean is it’s fine if you touch my skin, Victor—god that sounds weirder.”

 

“But in the past, you’ve never liked it.” Victor pressed, despite himself. “Not just with me, but everyone.”

“It’s fine,” Yuuri reiterated firmly, but there was a sharp discomfort in his voice. “I had problems with it when I was a kid, but I grew out of it.”

 

Memories from their childhood flipped through Victor’s mind like a scrapbook—Yuuri biting back grimaces whenever Lilia’s hand would graze his forehead or when other nobility would pinch his cheeks, of the time Victor had reached for him with his bare hand and he’d shied away. And yet, during these travels, Yuuri had exchanged kisses on the cheeks with other aristocrats with no hesitation; when they had stopped at the Sagiri District, he allowed Lady Nishigori’s triplets to squish his face with a smile. Victor had stored away all of these in the haze of autopilot but they came back now, each and every time, like a spear.

He was sent back to the strange, unstable place where he tried to fill in the blanks between the Yuuri then and the Yuuri now. Now, watching the way Yuuri’s hand clenched around the sword hilt brought questions to the tip of his tongue— _what about your hands? Does this apply to your hands too?_ But that was broaching on tacit, forbidden territory—if Yuuri had something to say, Victor would wait for it.

 

“Victor, really,” Yuuri said, consoling, “It’s not an issue at all, except with my—” He stopped abruptly and his hand tightened on the sword hilt.

“You have nice skin,” Victor blurted into the strained silence and that was somehow worse. Because now he just sounded like some alien coveting Yuuri’s skin.

 

Yuuri’s hand stilled from where it had kept rubbing on his forehead, and the redness crept back into his face. “Thanks, I moisturize.”

 

Victor wanted to put this conversation in a box, lock it up, and toss it into a volcano. His sword scuffed against the floor, icing over some of the wooden patterning.

 

“Do you—do you want to video chat Mari?” Yuuri blessedly salvaged the situation. “We can talk to Vicchan and Makkachin.”

 

* * *

 

Victor winced as he heard Yuuri curse again from inside his dressing room, followed up by his stylist’s repeated apologies.

 

“Is everything okay in there?”

 

“Yes, Mister Nikiforov!” The stylist sounded frazzled. “Prince Katsuki’s hair just doesn’t cooperate.”

 

Victor grinned and wondered if he was neglecting his bodyguard duties by not checking in on Yuuri, but he couldn’t get up—not with both Makkachin and Vicchan piled up on his lap. His hands molded into the tufts of fur on their heads and they poked their heads up to lick his fingers.

 

“Yes, yes, I missed you guys too. The best boy and girl.”

 

It had been the sweetest welcome when they returned to the palace and the dogs had jumped all over them. Yuuri was almost immediately swept up in meetings and preparations for his birthday-banquet event, most of which Victor had to attend as well so whenever he got to see them it felt special.

 

There was a knock from the direction of Yuuri’s dressing room. “How do I look?”

 

Victor glanced up from the dogs and found his breath cruelly snatched away. Yuuri’s shoulders where broad where his cape cocooned around them like a shawl, with silver embellishments keeping it in place. His clothes hugged his frame well, the rich royal blue and silver seams of his top a contrast to the black of everything else. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, Victor had seen Yuuri dressed similarly for formal events all the time but—

 

 _Gorgeous, enchanting, breathtaking_ , were the words that tried to force their way out of his mouth. “Like a prince,” Victor answered instead.

 

Yuuri grinned. “You look like a bodyguard,” he teased.

 

“Speaking of which—” Victor’s smile felt shaky on his face and he made a deliberate effort to stare down at the dogs. “You’re going to have to find a replacement. I can’t get up with these babies on me.”

 

Yuuri settled on the mattress next to Victor and the dogs flopped over onto him. “It’s too late to find a replacement. Let’s just not go.” Vicchan made a valiant effort to climb over Makkachin’s back before Yuuri just picked him up and wrapped him up in his arms.

 

It was second nature for Victor to pick up the cues now— Yuuri’s lower lip wobbling as he tried not to chew into it, his hands roving restlessly over Vicchan’s fur. “Why are you nervous, Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri cast him an incredulous look. “You think I need a reason to be nervous?”

 

Victor laughed. “Fair enough. But you’ve been to a bunch of these already.”

 

“That doesn’t change anything, I’ll be expected to be all proper and eloquent, and not embarrass myself. What if someone makes fun of me?”

 

Victor did not point out that this was nothing new, Yuuri spent a better part of his day being proper and eloquent. “If anybody makes fun of you, Yuuri,” he stood up and slid out a dagger from under his sleeve and pointed it at Yuuri with a flourish, “I’ll be sure to carve their tongues out.”

 

Yuuri mumbled something—Victor caught ‘dramatic’ and grinned wider—before wryly saying, “Don’t go starting a war in my honor.”

 

The banquet hall was much the same, with the exception to the decorations. Lights came from the standard floating orbs but they were molded into intricate shapes-large, glowing fish that swam between the pillows, bulbous, sculpted friezes that allowed the light to pour down them like liquid. There were additional gold-spun strings of lights along the walls which connected independent orbs together into chandeliers.

 

Victor let a hand sweep over the banister as they approached Yuuri’s family, tuned out the droning of the announcer as he said their names and addresses. The people below were all mingling in some way, eating, dancing, maybe gossiping, right now bowing at the sight of the announcement of the royal family.

 

Mari stuck a thump out behind here. “As exciting as all this looks, I’m going out back for a smoke.”

 

“She’s going to go call her girlfriend,” Yuuri informed once she was out of earshot.

 

“Maybe you should take a page from her book,” the king said sternly, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

 

Yuuri rolled his eyes so hard Victor feared they would fall out.

 

“Really Yuuri,” Queen Hiroko insisted, “there are so many suitors down there waiting to meet you.” She gave his shoulder a little push. “You’re twenty now. Try to get a little serious about this. No more flings, okay?”

 

“Mother,” Yuuri hissed, while the king cracked a wide smile. Yuuri muttered, “don’t make it sound like I go around dating people.”

 

This entire conversation had sent something slimy trickling down Victor’s back. Yuuri had finally divulged information on his past relationships on the train ride returning to Capitol City and they had spent most of the trip joking about bad exes, but there was something about these future suitors, these vague, shifty shapes of people who would have the privilege of truly knowing Yuuri that set Victor off.

 

Yuuri turned and took a few dragging steps towards the staircase, then looked at Victor over his shoulder. “Aren’t you coming?”

 

Victor glanced at the king and queen, unsure. His position was supposed to be at the supporting pillars, overlooking the entire hall. The king gave him a resigned nod.

 

“Go on ahead, Victor, you have fun too,” Queen Katsuki urged.

 

Nobody hid their staring as the two of them their way down, and they held no shame in pouncing on Yuuri once they hit the last step. They asked about Yuuri’s travels through the kingdom, his favorite districts, and landmarks, and Yuuri gave safe, benign answers. There was the inevitable talk about how much Yuuri had grown, how they remembered him being the size of a peanut, and it was hard for Victor to maintain a stoic façade at all the tiny objects people tried to compare Yuuri to.

 

“You know,” Victor whispered as they escaped a heavily perfumed older couple, “this suitor thing isn’t going to happen with me trailing after you.”

 

“Good.” Yuuri picked up three glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, downed two, and handed one over to Victor.

 

Victor nursed it, unsure if he should drink or hold onto it for Yuuri. A fair share of the guests came up to him to gush about his sword fighting, about seeing him at competitions, being shocked that he was Yuuri’s bodyguard, being not shocked at all because they apparently remembered him being Yuuri’s friend in the past. Many of the older nobility mentioned always seeing them together when they visited the palace.

 

It was the strangest satisfaction, to know that these people, who lived in a wholly other world from him, were aware that Yuuri’s past was entangled with his.

 

“Prince Yuuri.”

 

Yuuri gave an easy smile at the approaching man. “Lord Kouta, hello.”

 

He kissed Yuuri’s hand. “I wanted to ask if you’d share a dance?”

 

Yuuri tapped Victor’s forearm with two fingers. “I’ll catch you later.”

 

Victor smiled and took a long sip of the champagne to avoid giving a response. The dark-haired man, Kouta, led Yuuri into the mesh of dancing people. His hand settled low on Yuuri’s waist and Victor’s hand tightened on the stem of the champagne flute. From where he stood, he couldn’t see much space between their bodies. From where he stood, he could see the lord rubbing at the wrinkle in Yuuri’s glove, in the dip between his thumb and index finger.

 

Buttons Victor didn’t know he had were being pushed. He took another generous gulp.

 

Minako teetered over to him, somehow maintaining grace while being obviously inebriated. “Victor.”

 

Her voice had a lazy droop to it and Victor welcomed the distraction of the drunk duchess. “Your Grace.”

 

“Oh, just call me Minako, I’ve seen you and Yuuri chase each other around since you were babies.”

 

Victor gave an abrupt laugh. “We were definitely not babies.”

 

Minako flapped an errant hand. “It’s all the same to an oldie like me. I was a little surprised when you left, I mean I figured it might happen, but I was still surprised. You two were like this.” She twisted her index and middle finger together and gave him a pointed look.

 

“We didn’t spend all our time together,” Victor argued through a smile, “I had my training, and he had his.”

 

“You spent enough. I remember Yuuri asking all the time if he could end his lessons early to play with you.”

 

“Are you allowed to tell me this?”

 

Minako gave him a conspiring wink. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t be able to guess yourself. I suppose it’s good that you left to do your thing, got Yuuri to focus and get those top-notch exam scores.”

 

“Yuuri would have gotten those scores either way.” It felt unprofessional to argue against her, but Victor couldn’t help the defensiveness in his voice.

 

Minako just smiled. “No, I agree. He’s a very talented boy. It puts us all at ease that he has you to keep him safe.” She slid back, one hand on the wall for support, the other tipping her drink towards Victor. “And I’m glad you have him to keep you safe, Victor.”

 

Victor didn't know what to say to that, but thankfully, Minako was already slinking away back to the drinks table. His eyes searched the dancing masses for Yuuri; there were more people now, linking arms and doing something synchronized. Victor eventually found him, his crown reflecting the light as he spun a lady. He danced with a couple more people, including a little boy who he swung from side to side with a playful smile, much to the child’s delight. With each person, he edged closer to Victor until he was finally off the dance floor.

 

His hand absentmindedly played with the side of his crown. “Caught you later.”

 

“Yes, you did,” Victor agreed.

 

“Would you like to guard me while I escape to my room?”

 

Victor bit back laughter. “Of course, my prince.”

 

Yuuri did most of the talking on the walk back—which was rare, but Victor had no complaints.

 

“I wanted to introduce you to Phichit! You keep missing him, but he was having a moment with Seung Gil.”

 

Victor had only heard those names in the passing but he made a small sound of understanding anyway. Yuuri pointed out Princess Mari’s initials on a patch of stone. They stopped to adjust a statue’s arms into a crude gesture. Then once Yuuri realized some visiting aristocrat would probably see it they retraced their steps and returned the arms to more respectable places.

 

The lights in Yuuri’s room were dimmed to a soft yellow hue that splashed over the walls like a sinking sunset. Victor didn’t know why he followed Yuuri in; he had squeezed in a late-night meeting with the guard squadron he usually worked with for Yuuri’s travels.

 

Yuuri took his crown off and placed it on Victor’s head. “Your Highness.” His voice dipped into a teasing lilt.

 

Something sharp cut into Victor’s throat. He should bid him goodnight, he had that stupid meeting, but his traitor mouth opened and he blurted, “Who was that guy you danced with?”

 

“I danced with a lot of people.”

 

“The first one. Dark hair.” He didn’t know why he felt out-of-place asking about this, it wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about crushes when they were kids—except this time, Victor felt a little sick at the idea of Yuuri liking someone. Having feelings for someone. Being enamored of someone.

 

Yuuri sat down on his bed. “Kouta?” Victor nodded and Yuuri smiled. “His district is right next to Capitol City so I guess we didn’t bother to schedule it into my tour but I think I told you about him? I kind of accidentally started dating him a while back.”

 

Oh. Victor hadn’t bothered remembering his name. The story had been funny then, it suddenly wasn’t anymore. “How do you accidentally date someone? And then stay with them for six months?”

 

“I did have feelings for him,” Yuuri said, bemused. “He’s cute.”

 

As much as Victor wanted to say something petty, he couldn’t argue with that. What he could do was _leave,_ ask Yuuri if he wanted him to call up a palace worker to conjure a bath, and then _leave_. He settled himself against the bedpost. “Speaking of cute, did any of those suitors stand out to you?”

 

Yuuri shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m trying to put that off.”

 

“So, you have to then.” At Yuuri’s puzzled face Victor clarified, “You have to get married to someone.”

 

Yuuri reached out to the pillow Vicchan was sleeping on to play with one of his ears. There was a far-off look in his eyes. “I don’t have to do anything. But it would be very smart, to marry a well-liked noble, or a duke from another kingdom.”

 

Victor couldn’t put a name to the feeling that came over him then, being in Yuuri’s room with his hazy eyes and the washed-out lights. With Yuuri’s crown on his head.

 

It was like a knife, rusted and dull, was gently digging into his chest, scooping out small, perfect pieces of his heart.


End file.
